Seeds Of Destiny
by pat weakley
Summary: Book One-Britt Reid has accepted long ago that he could no longer be the Green Hornet. Now Kato's son comes into his life demanding that Reid become the Green Hornet one last time to avenge his former partner's death.
1. The Challenge

  
  
  
  


_If a man dwells on the past, he robs the present,_

_but if a man ignores the past_

_He may rob the future._

_The Seeds of our destiny are nourished _

_By the experiences of our past._****   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**THE SEEDS OF DESTINY**   
  
  
  
  
  


Prologue   
  
  
  
  
  


The masked man silently watched the passing landscape as the car sped through the night. The shadows were knife-sharp and pitch black beneath the icy glare of the full moon. It was a crisp black night that should have been spent before a dancing fire with a beautiful woman in his arms and soft music on the stereo, not hurtling to some unknown destination. He wore a heavy overcoat that was more than warm enough for the cold outside, but in the confined space of the small car it was far too hot. He could feel the sweat dampen his shirt beneath the coat. Heavy ropes biting into his wrists prevented him from removing or at least loosening the buttons of his coat.   
  


The heavy smoke from the cheap cigarettes of the two men in the front seat filled the air, adding to his discomfort. He felt like he was going to suffocate, but any of his complaints would have been met with obscenities, so he chose to suffer in silence. Time was what he needed most but he could feel it slipping rapidly away as the miles melted beneath the humming wheels of the car.   
  


Once it was well out of town, the car turned off the interstate, and onto a road which rapidly turned into a rough narrow dirt track. The passenger recognized the location as that of a long abandoned gravel pit. He made a mental note to mention to Scanlon that this place was being used as a gangland cemetery. That is if he survived this night.   
  


A tight feeling in the pit of his gut warned him that it was more than likely that he was on his way to becoming one more silent occupant among the gutted mountains of sand and rocks. As the car bounced along the rough track, moving toward what seemed to be a prearranged meeting place, he tried to think of some kind of plan, some way to escape the desperate situation into which he had placed himself. However, his racing mind rejected one plan after another.   
  


The car entered a small amphitheater formed by the disembowelment of a large hill. The cold glare of the moon lit the entire arena in a nightmarish imitation of day, making everything stand out in bold, unnatural contrast without the warmth of true daylight. Just ahead a semi-circle of cars waited at the foot of the steep hill. As the car he was riding in arrived to complete the circle they flashed on their headlights, making it brighter still, but adding little warmth.   
  


With drawn guns, the driver and his companion motioned their prisoner out of the back seat and herded him to the center of the circle. The masked man took a few deep breaths. The air was bitterly cold but after the stifling atmosphere of the car it was refreshing and helped clear his mind. He calmly regarded the men gathered around him. They were all hard-eyed professional killers and he knew most of them by sight and by name. They were wanted all over the world and would have made a nice catch for the city's police force. **"__**Yeah," he thought grimly, "_and the cops would have more than happy to trade all of them just for a shot of getting me behind bars."_   
  


Two men stood out from the group. One was far younger than the others, barely out of his teen years, if not still in them. Dressed in a black leather jacket decorated with a coiled rattlesnake on its breast and back, he was of shorter than average height. He had the long, greasy hair and straggly unkempt beard typical of his generation. In appearance he was a young man; but his soul was as hard and as vicious as the rest of the gang. As Shakespeare had said of Cassius, he had a lean and hungry look.   
  


The old man standing was Josiah Jackson, the leader of the gang. Physically he was more of a troll than a human being. His ancient body, like his black soul, was twisted by a long life of greed and hatred. He was a master of dealing out death, especially if was very slow and painful. Most of the men here learned their violent ways at his knee. The masked man and Jackson had been fierce opponents for a long time and now the old man's eyes shone with hungry pleasure as he contemplated the man who towered over him.   
  


"Come to watch the show, Jackson?" said the masked man, his voice flat, without emotion.   
  


"Oh, I'll do a lot more than watch. I'm gonna make sure that my face is the last thing you see before the devil takes you," hissed the old man, his breath clouding in the cold air between them. "You've been a pain in my ass for too damn long, but now I finally got you. I just wish I was able to take my time and work you over real proper, but you got a reputation for gettin' out of tight spots, so I'm gonna have to get it over real quick.   
  


"My boys ain't used to manual labor, so you're gonna dig your own grave," Jackson said with an asthmatic laugh. He nodded toward a thug that came forward with a shovel and directed him to throw it at the masked man's feet.   
  


The masked man contemplated the shovel for a moment, fighting down the anger that rose in him. He wanted to tell the ugly old man exactly what he could do with it, but a half-formed idea tugged at the edge of his brain. Maybe, just maybe, this might be the opportunity he had been waiting for. "Can't dig with my hands tied," he commented with a shrug. 

At Jackson's signal one of the gunmen came forward and gingerly cut the prisoner's bonds, before moving quickly beyond his reach. The masked man flexed his fingers which were nearly numb from the tight ropes and rubbed his raw, bleeding wrists. It was very bright in the center of the ring of dark cars and blinding highlights. All he could see of the men surrounding him where featureless silhouettes**.**   
  


He took his time, digging very slowly and carefully, making sure that all the sides of the hole were straight and the corners square. It was hard work with the ground nearly frozen from the cold, but he kept at the same careful pace. The gunmen were steadily growing impatient. They edged closer, lulled by his apparent docility. He carefully noted, without raising his head, their number and positions.   
  


It was time. He had reached below the frost level of the ground. The dirt was softer and looser. He had been making it a practice to step out of the hole he had been digging to drop shovelfuls of dirt into a growing pile a few steps away. He stepped out of the shallow depression he had been digging and moved to drop the shovelful of dirt onto the pile. Suddenly he twisted and threw the dirt into the faces of the men nearest to him. Before the others could react he scooped up another shovelful and flung it into the their faces as well. He swung the shovel catching a man across the head with the shovel's blade. On the back-swing he caught another man in the stomach, sending him breathless to the ground. In the corner of his eye he saw one of the gangsters draw his gun. Using the shovel like a vaulting pole he launched himself at the man before he could fire. They both fell to the ground, but he was the quicker to recover. He rolled onto his feet, landing close to a gap between two of the encircling cars. As he threaded between the cars he could hear Jackson screaming and cursing at his men to fire. Blinded by the bright circle of their cars' headlights they were unable to see the fleeing man as he ran for the sandy hillside. ****   
  


. He ran swiftly for the rocks that covered the sides of the steep hillside. In the brightly moonlit arena he was a far too visible target, but once among the protective cover of the rocks, his dark green overcoat would provide an effective camouflage. He zigged and zagged away from the flying bullets that bit at the ground at his feet. He reached the sandy slope well ahead of his pursuers, but the slope was far too soft and it clutched at his feet, fatally slowing him.   
  


Just as he reached his goal, he felt a sharp burning pain in his side. Then he was struck by another bullet and another, but he still kept stubbornly to his feet. He forced himself onward, vainly hoping that somehow, some way, he would be able to escape. More bullets struck him, hitting his arms, legs and back, tearing through his flesh, burying deep into his body. Several times he stumbled and fell to his knees under the hammer blows of the bullets hitting him. Each time he pulled himself to his feet, each time it took him longer to rise and go on.****

****

****Finally he could go on no longer. His entire body felt like it was on fire; he didn't have the strength to go on. He was overcome by black despair. He had gambled and lost. Time had finally run out on him. Not knowing that his tormentors had lost him in the darkness, he crawled behind a large pile of rocks and curled up into a tight ball of pain . Although all he wanted to do now was to scream and cry out in anguish, he squeezed his eyes shut andgritted his teeth.Even on the brink of death stubborn pride demanded that he not show weakness in front of his enemies.****   
  
  
  


The young punk saw the masked man fall and knew that this was his chance to impress Jackson. He would do what the police and the entire underworld had failed to do. He had not bothered trying to fire on the fleeing man, but had rather concentrated on climbing the steep, sandy hillside. Now he was the closest to where the masked man had gone to ground. Heavy clouds were starting to obscure the moon. He would have to hurry or he would miss where his prey had hidden himself. A trail of blood led him to where the man was laying in the shadow of a large boulder. When he first spotted him, the punk thought that the man was already dead, but before his disbelieving eyes the masked man rose to his feet. His clothing was covered with blood and his features were taut with pain. He looked more like a corpse than a living person, but he stood proudly, head held high, back straight, determined to face his killer without any sign of weakness.   
  


"Get it over with, my friend. At this distance even you shouldn't be able to miss," he said defiantly, his voice steady despite the pain that threatened to buckle his knees at any moment.   
  


The young man should have felt triumphant, but instead the cold chill of fear gripped his heart. As the leader of a two-bit barrio gang and then as Jackson's newest student he had killed before and expected to kill again, but never had he seen such courage as the masked man displayed now. Here was someone in his short violent life he was forced to respect**. **He hated it. He lowered his gun and fired into the masked man's left leg. The man fell to the ground as his leg was shattered by the punk's bullet, but again he slowly pulled himself to his feet.   
  


"You're a rotten shot. Try again and this time try not to miss," he taunted.   
  


The punk angrily gritted his teeth, and aimed for the masked man's other leg. "I ain't gonna make it quick fer ya. I'm gonna make ya beg fer yer life," he said as his finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly he heard a yowl, like that of a supernatural beast and the screams of dying men.   
  


A lithe, whirling figure dressed in a black chauffeur's uniform had exploded into Jackson's men, scattering them like leaves before a storm. A terrifying avenging angel out of their worse nightmares, the newcomer spared no one who came within his reach. Jackson's hoarse screams to fire were drowned out the screams of his men as they fell beneath the newcomer's punishing hands and feet. The gangsters quickly lost heart and fled to their cars. Seeing that the tide of the battle had turned against him, Jackson scuttled away to his car before the man in black could vent his merciless rage on him.   
  


Searching for the masked man, the black-clad chauffeur looked up in time to see him fall under the punk's first bullet. The punk turned and began firing at him. The masked man lunged at him, ruining his aim. He tried to force the gun out of the punk's hand, but he was easily pushed off. The punk stood over him. The punk could see the birth of hope of his eyes as the man in the chauffeur's uniform came closer. Wanting desperately to crush that newborn hope, the punk took careful aim at the oncoming rescuer. The gun didn't fire. The brief struggle in the sand had hopelessly jammed it. He holstered the useless weapon.   
  


"Yer pal's finally here, but it ain't gonna do ya any good. Yer a dead man already without me even firin' a shot," he said before he fled.   
  


The chauffeur had a moment's indecision, but decided against going after the young punk. He could be taken care of later. He quickly trotted to the masked man, who had crumpled back to the ground. Carefully he cradled the man in his arms, the seriousness of his injuries obvious with a glance. 

"I'm getting you to a hospital right now," he said in a slightly accented voice that trembled with grief. 

The masked man painfully shook his head. "No. It's no use. Take me home. I want to die at home."   
  


"No. You're not going to die!" the chauffeur protested helplessly, "I won't let you!"   
  


"It's too late," the masked man said, wincing in pain, trying to say what he needed to.   
  


"Don't try to talk. Save your strength."   
  


"There's so much I need to say," the masked man grasped his friend's arm with surprising strength. "I've always expected this to happen," he coughed painfully, bringing up blood from a punctured lung. He smiled wryly despite the pain, "I just didn't expect it would be so soon. Tell Frank and Casey that I'm sorry for involving them. Once everything becomes public, they're the ones that'll suffer for what I've done." He gasped again, trying not to cry out as a wave of pain ran through his body. "Tell them I'm sorry," he repeated.   
  


"I won't need to, you'll be able to do that yourself," the chauffeur insisted.   
  


"Don't lie to me. I know I'm dying and so do you."   
  


The masked man closed his eyes, but the pain was still there and getting worse. He felt so tired that he could no longer think clearly. Then the red mist that floated before his eyes faded into a darkness in which there was no pain.   
  


The man in black bowed his head over the still form in his arms and cried as a soft snowfall began to float out of the black night sky. 

Chapter One   
  


The Challenge   
  


I   
  


Lenore "Casey" Reid gently pressed the office door closed behind her, taking care not to disturb the man at the desk. She frequently liked to stand there watching him at work as the late afternoon sun cast his ruggedly handsome features into sharp relief. Even after nearly thirty years of marriage and two grown children she was still as attracted to him as when they had first met. Perhaps even more so. A tall broad shouldered man, he possessed the strength and vigor of a man half his age. His thick, once dark hair was now the color of antique silver and his waist was a little thicker, but he still had the flashing aqua-grey eyes that had stolen her heart so many years ago when she had been a newcomer to the Daily Sentinel's secretarial pool and Britt had not yet inherited his father's newspaper.   
  


Feeling that they were living on borrowed time, she had always cherished the years they had spent together as man and wife. Now she feared that the young man waiting in the anteroom would change everything. Her initial impulse had been to send him away, with the excuse that her husband was far too busy to see anyone. Still, his reason for being there could be very important. It would be wrong to send him away without Britt seeing him.   
  


Her reverie was broken when Britt stopped writing and looked up at her with a sigh of tired exasperation. "Okay, Casey, what is it?" he said irritably.   
  


"There's a young man here to see you," she said uneasily, wishing that someone else was performing this unpleasant task.   
  


"I'm busy. Can't he see someone else?" he said, but seeing that she was very disturbed, he immediately became worried. "What's the problem?" he asked.   
  


"He said his name is Lee and that he's Kato's son," she said quietly, after a few moments of hesitation.   
  


"Kato's son?" he asked. "No, I don't think I want to see him or his father, not now, not after all this time," he said bitterly.   
  


"I really think you should see him. At least find out why he's here. It could be very important," she insisted.   
  


"No," came the sharp reply.   
  


"Please."   
  


Irritated, he tossed the pen onto his desk, "Hell, I was still in the hospital when Kato decided to take off without even having the decency to say why he was leaving, so why is he is contacting me after all these years?.   
  


"Why don't you talk to him and find out?" she suggested.   
  


"Will I be sleeping on the couch if I don't?" he asked, his pale eyes sparkling in amusement.   
  


She smiled back. "I don't think you'd be able to sleep at all if you didn't see him."   
  


Britt sighed heavily. "Send him in. Let's see what kind of news he's bringing us."   
  


Britt was struck by the family resemblance as soon the young man entered the room. He was somewhere in his early twenties and had his father's straight dark hair and dark flashing eyes. However, it was more in the way that he carried himself that reminded Britt of his former ally. He moved lightly on the balls of his feet like a dancer and carried himself with a self confidence far beyond his years. "_Wonder how much of that is real?"_ Britt thoughtcynically.   
  


Lee didn't wait for Britt to speak, but came right to the point. "Mr. Reid, I'm here for my inheritance."   
  


Britt's eyebrows rose at Lee's directness, "And what exactly is that? Your father took everything that belonged to him when he left. I have nothing that's his."   
  


"You have the Black Beauty," came the curt reply.   
  


Stunned, Britt leaned forward with narrowed eyes and studied the young man more closely. Casey moved quietly to close the drapes over that glass wall that separated the office from the City Room. "Reporters are the worst gossips around," she said lightly in explanation, but her soft brown eyes were worried.   
  


"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Britt said.   
  


"I'm talking about that big black car you got hidden in the garage of your townhouse. I'm here to get it."   
  


"Oh. I see. You must be talking about the car of the Green Hornet. You've made a big mistake. I know nothing about that car. Whoever told you that I did was wrong."   
  


"Don't think you can get rid of me that easy. I know all about your past as the Green Hornet. My father told me everything. Just give me what I want and I'll get the hell out of you life."   
  


"I'm sorry," Britt answered, "But even if I were stupid enough to admit to having that car to a total stranger, I wouldn't turn it over to you just because you asked for it. If you're really Kato's son, he can come get it himself."   
  


"He can't; he's dead."   
  


Britt's jaw dropped. He tightly grasped Casey's trembling hand as she laid on his shoulder. The shock on her face mirrored his own. He was at a loss as to what to do or say.   
  


Casey asked gently, "How did it happen?"   
  


"He was found at the bottom of a cliff. The cops claim it was an accident, but I know better. He was murdered."   
  


"And you believe that with the Black Beauty you can get those who did it." said Britt.   
  


"Yes. It's the only way."   
  


"It won't work," Britt said, slowly shaking his head, "It takes a lot more than a fancy gadget-ridden car to bring killers to justice."   
  


"I don't want justice! I want revenge!" Lee shouted, "And you can do nothing to stop me!"   
  


Britt thought for a moment, steepling his fingers in concentration. "I can refuse to give you the car."   
  


"I could talk to the cops."   
  


"Would you really do that?"   
  


"No, not really, but not because of you, but because you were friends with my father. He never would've wanted me to do anything like that. But, damn it, you don't have any use for it. I do. Instead of letting it rust away, give it to me. My father built it. It's rightfully mine!"   
  


"Lee, Kato and I built that car together. It's not yours by any right. But, perhaps you're right. I don't have any need for it. It just serves to remind me of a past I'd rather forget. So," he sighed disgustedly, "You might as well have the damn thing. It won't do you any good. You'll just wind up destroying it. And yourself. But that's your business, not mine."   
  


Casey started to protest, but stopped when she saw that he was as unhappy about his decision as she was. Britt lifted himself slowly from his chair and reached for the cane that was sitting in its usual place. He caught Lee's quickly disguised look of surprise. Even after so many years, he was still irritated by the way people always guiltily averted their eyes when they saw it, as though it was something too shameful to be noticed. A proud man, Britt considered himself in excellent shape and frequently went out of his way to prove it to others, including this young man who had a hard time keeping up with his long-legged gait as they left the office.   
  
  
  


Britt remained seated in his car for a few moments after pulling up to the townhouse. He and Casey had lived there briefly after their marriage but he had been too troubled by old memories to live there for very long. After deactivating all the secret devices within its walls, he had locked the door, never expecting to return. 

Britt sighed to himself. "_I should've sold the damn place a long time ago. Except somebody might've stumbled onto something and then where would we be?" _ He grimaced at his thoughts. "_I'm getting too soft in my old age_..."He allowed himself a small smile. _"We did have some good times there."****_   
  


"We'll have to park out front, I don't have the remote for the garage in this car," he explained as he got out of the car.   
  


"Yeah, and it doesn't have the bars built into it to hold it onto the floor when we bring the Black Beauty up," Lee added as he trotted eagerly after Britt as they entered the townhouse.   
  


As he walked down a short flight of stairs to the garage, Britt felt like he was moving in a dream; as though the past several years had never happened. He had to remind himself that the young man beside him was not Kato, but rather his son. He gestured to a set of pegboards on the rear wall of the garage. "You said you know everything. Prove it."   
  


"You still don't trust me?" Lee asked.   
  


"That's right. I don't," Britt answered in a steely voice.   
  


Lee frowned in concentration as he studied the pegboards. Then he moved to the board on the left, selected a rachet wrench and twisted the head on it twice. A small panel between the pegboards opened to reveal a set of buttons and switches. He pressed a button and the bright overhead lights dimmed to a pale green. Lee hesitated and stole a quick glance at Britt who stood behind him, arms folded across his chest, his face giving not a hint of whether he was doing things right or not. Lee passed over the buttons that had once been used to secure a long gone beige convertible to the floor and selected another set.   
  


He took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. This was the moment he had been looking forward to for a very long time. He pressed one of them. For a few breathless moments nothing happened. Perhaps, too many years had gone by. Then he heard a low whine and felt the thrumming vibration of a powerful engine beneath his feet. Slowly a large section of the floor began to tilt upwards and over. Lee's heart caught in his throat, finally one of his fondest dreams was coming true.   
  


Like a giant hammerhead shark breaching the ocean's surface, a big black car rotated into view. The dim green light overhead played along the big shield-shaped grill like fingers along the strings of a harp. The car came to rest in front of Lee and Britt, its front and rear left-hand doors automatically opening in welcome. Lee walked slowly around the car, his fingers lightly caressing the smooth black surface that shone in the dim light like fine satin. He admired the clean, simple lines that played games with perspective so that five massive tons of steel was molded into a vehicle of grace and beauty.   
  


"The Black Beauty," Lee breathed, "She's magnificent. I've never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life."   
  


"Actually my pet name for it was Black Ugly," Britt said wryly.   
  


Lee gasped at Britt's lack of reverence. "_How could he dare say such athing_?" he thought.   
  


Britt smiled crookedly. "She's a lot more than a pretty face. She can outrun and out-shoot anything on four wheels. People didn't call her a 'Rolling arsenal' because she's pretty, but because of the rockets and the other weapons we shoe-horned into her."   
  


Britt glanced at his watch. "It's time for us to get moving. We'll grab the new battery and the rest of the stuff out of my car and get the Black Beauty ready to roll."   
  


They worked quickly, but to Lee time seemed to drag by far too slowly. Finally, the Black Beauty was ready and he crawled behind the steering wheel with a big grin. "How about a ride around the block?" he asked Britt.   
  


Britt gazed for a moment at the open lefthandpassenger door. Briefly he could feel the rush he had always felt when entering that door, when it led to excitement, adventure, and danger. Danger. The dark stains that covered the back sent a chill through him. He slowly closed the heavy door. "No. I'd rather not. My last ride was enough to last me a lifetime."   
  


Lee momentarily felt the chill that had sped through Britt and forced himself to ignore it. He pressed the Black Beauty's starter button. Instead of the satisfying roar of a powerful engine coming from the long hood all he heard was an irritating grinding noise. He shot a questioning glance at Britt.   
  


"It's been a long time. You might have to try a few times before she'll turn over," Britt said, silently hoping that the Black Beauty would never start; that her mighty engine was as dead as the Green Hornet. Perhaps then Lee would give up his foolish mission.   
  


Without success Lee stubbornly continued to grind on the starter until he was afraid that the new battery would give out. He felt the hot flush of embarrassment under Britt's steady gaze. The last thing he wanted to do was to admit defeat to the older man. With a fervent prayer to the god of automobiles and the young men who love them, he pressed the starter again.   
  


The engine began to cough and sputter. It backfired several times, clearing the years out of its system. The entire car shook and rocked like an angry dragon rudely awakened from a long slumber. A thick blue-black smoke filled the garage threatening to suffocate them.   
  


Lee doggedly kept his foot on the gas pedal, "Go baby, go, go baby, go" he chanted under his breath until the engine began to settle down.   
  


Through the noise of the ventilator that he had turned on, Britt listened to the engine's deep throated purr. He leaned over to give Lee a few last minute instructions. "You'll have to back her out. I disconnected the billboard years ago. It's dark now so I don't think you'll have any problems with anybody recognizing the car."   
  


"What about the cops?" Lee asked.   
  


"Just make sure you drive carefully and go the speed limit, and I don't think they'll bother you. Anybody who'd recognize it has been retired a long time. And even if they did recognize it, I don't think they'd believe it."   
  


Britt reached in and pressed a button on the dashboard. As the headlights rotated, he added, "You better use the regular headlights. And leave the weapons alone until you give everything a thorough checkup. I have no idea what your father did, if he did anything at all, before he left it in the garage. No matter what you think about this car, remember it's still just a car and an old one at that. It's been in storage for a long time. Don't try anything stupid." he warned. Britt sighed, looking at Lee and at how happy he seemed to be behind the wheel. "She's all yours now. Take good care of her. She was your father's pride and joy."   
  


Britt felt a strange mixture of emotions as he watched Lee carefully back the Black Beauty out of the garage. He should have been happy to have gotten rid of the last tie to his past as the Green Hornet. Yet he felt an odd longing to be once more in the back of that car. To be on his way to some new and exciting adventure. He told himself that the time for that was now long gone. Such adventures were only for the young and foolish, not for an old man with a bum leg who should know better. Still though, he had a feeling that he had not seen the last of that young man and that old black car.   
  
  
  
  
  


II   
  
  
  


Lee smiled with pleasure as he guided the Black Beauty through the city streets. Although it was much bigger than most of the cars now on the road, it moved nimbly through the heavy evening traffic, responding to the slightest movement of the steering wheel. He lightly caressed the steering wheel as he let it slip through his hands after turning a corner. The large wheel was hard and as thin as a woman's wedding ring, not like the smaller, thickly padded ones that were in all the cars today. That was only one of the many differences that came from not just being the Green Hornet's car, but rather because it was originally built in the days of big cars and big engines and to hell with the gas mileage. Then, all that mattered was size, speed and power. Especially power. He could feel almost limitless power beneath the engine's quiet purr under the long hood. Power that was just begging for him to call on it.   
  


"Hey, man. Where'd you get that black dinosaur? Does your daddy know you got it?" screamed a purple haired teenager from a convertible that had pulled up next to Lee at a stop light on the outskirts of the city.   
  


"Don't bug him, Larry," shouted a girl in spiky blue hair over the music that shook the convertible and the air around it with a heavy, throbbing beat. "I think it's really pretty, you know, kinda like a black beauty." She leaned halfway out of the convertible, batting her heavily made-up eyes at Lee. "I think he's kinda cute too."   
  


The teenager frowned at the girl. He raced the convertible's engine. "Ya wanna drag?"   
  


The light turned green and the convertible raced off with screaming tires and mocking laughter. Lee watched the convertible take off for a few moments and then pressed the gas pedal down with deliberate slowness. The last thing he needed was to be caught dragging. Just the idea of the Black Beauty drag racing was ridiculous.   
  


Unfortunately, at the next light the convertible was waiting for him. "C'mon, you chicken or something? Hell, I bet that wreck can't even get out of its own way!" shouted the teenager as he sent a nearly full beer bottle crashing against the Black Beauty's side.   
  


Flushed with humiliation and outrage, Lee swore angrily. Mere glass wouldn't even scratch the car's bullet proof side, but that didn't matter. This was the Green Hornet's car, his father had built it, and no one had ever dared touch the Black Beauty with disrespect. Bullets, yes, lasers, yes, but beer? Never! He flipped open the top of the armrest to his right and flipped a switch forward. The parking lights folded down to reveal two sets of eight rocket tubes. His hand hovered tantalizingly over the firing button. _It would be so easy_, he thought. _Too easy_, he decided as he reluctantly flipped the armrest closed. _It'd be like swatting a fly with a howitzer. _Besides Reid would have his butt if he ever found out.   
  


If they wanted to see how fast the Black Beauty would go, he'd show them. As he firmly pressed down on the gas, he activated the polarized headlights, bathing the road ahead in a green glow invisible from outside the car, and switched on the silencer, quieting the mighty engine's low throb into a whisper. The Black Beauty became virtually invisible. It responded hungrily and surged forward eagerly as if glad to be set free from mundane traffic laws. It overtook the racing convertible like it was standing still and sent it diving into a roadside ditch. Later, none of their friends believed the young couple when they talked of a big, black ghost car, but their parents remembered a man long thought dead and wondered. 

Lee laughed as he continued down the road. Never had he felt so powerful, so invulnerable. It was exhilarating to have the magnificent Black Beauty at his command. He loved the feeling. It was a perfect night for driving. A brilliant full moon shone in the crystal clear night sky amid stars that glittered like diamonds. The road was a bright river that flowed around hillsides, and up and down the valleys between. The Black Beauty flowed with it, charging up steep inclines before which lesser vehicles faded away and slipped dancingly along sharp turns with the grace of a sports car. It was like a thing alive, a creature of the night, glorying in the darkness; one with the wind that whispered ebon songs along its midnight dark sides. Lee pressed the gas pedal down further and felt the Black Beauty surge forward at even greater speed without a hint that there could be a limit, that there could be any end to what it could do.   
  


The sign of Lee's exit whizzed by, barely registering on his awareness. Then he remembered. Intending to cross the median strip just ahead of him, he slammed on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel. Wrenching the steering wheel out of Lee's hands, the heavy car violently fish tailed back and forth across the road. The out of control Black Beauty raced wildly down and up the median, throwing up clods of dirt and grass. Barely missing the pillars of the overpass it roared across the other side and on down and off the shoulder until it buried itself into a stand of trees.   
  


Lee trembled as he rested his head on arms folded across the steering wheel. He took a few deep shuddering breaths. His wrists were so sore that he felt that they were sprained, and yet outside of a small cut on his forehead, he was basically unhurt. Scared out of his mind, yes, but unhurt. He reached for the door, felt the car shift, and stopped. He held his breath and tried to look out, but could only see trees all around him. For all he knew, there could be a bottomless chasm yawning beneath him. Very gingerly he eased the door open just wide enough to get through. He squeezed out of the car and crawled over shattered trees and torn turf until he reached the roadside. Looking back at the path of destruction that the Black Beauty had left in its wake, he was surprised he was even alive. A lesser vehicle would have been destroyed and he would surely be dead, but, except for a few dents and some scraped paint here and there, the Black Beauty looked to be in great shape.   
  


Now he had to decide what to do. He wanted to call a tow truck, but he would have to explain the Black Beauty's unusual design. He couldn't count on no one recognizing that it was the Green Hornet's car. It was too big a chance to take. Worse would be having to call Britt Reid for help. That idea he didn't like at all. He walked down the road for a few feet in deep thought and then walked back. The decision still didn't feel any better. He would have to call Reid. He crawled back into the Black Beauty and dragged himself into the passenger compartment. He was relieved to find that the phone on the rear shelf still worked and that he would at least be spared trying to find a gas station in the middle of the night.   
  


As he waited for Reid he ran through his mind what he would say to the older man, but nothing sounded right. Reid would be justifiably furious and Lee felt he deserved whatever the man dished out. When he saw the lights of a big pick up with a winch slowing near him, he wished for a moment that it was some kind stranger who had decided to help him out. No luck. It was Reid and Lee prepared himself for a severe tongue lashing. Instead he found his presence barely noted with an icy glare and curt nod. Reid walked down to where the Black Beauty was and then returned without a word. He didn't have to say anything, his anger and disgust was plain enough to Lee. 

For several hours they worked, with Britt giving short commands and Lee mechanically obeying them. As they sawed, chopped and lifted away heavy pieces of wood and rocks, Lee found that he was having a hard time keeping up with the older man. He stubbornly pressed on, deciding that if Reid could do it, so could he. Finally they had cleared a rough path back to the road, and enough debris had been cleared for them to take a good look at the Black Beauty. A soft "damn" from Reid mirrored Lee's own dismay. Its front right wheel was bent at a crazy angle. The Black Beauty would be not be going anywhere under its own power for some time to come.   
  


The ride to Britt Reid's Valley Grove home was sheer torture for Lee. He was sore and tired. The job of getting the Black Beauty back to the road and hitched up to the pickup had been back breaking, especially under the burden of Reid's foul mood. Screaming and righteous indignation, he could have taken. At least then he would have had the chance to do some screaming of his own. Instead he had to keep it all bottled inside. He was ready to explode.   
  


"How fast were you going?" Reid asked quietly as he firmly kept his eyes on the road ahead.   
  


"I don't know," Lee answered in a small voice.   
  


"Were you asleep?"   
  


"No sir. I was wide awake," Lee protested, "I just didn't think I was going that fast. It got away from me. It's just that I kept on going faster and faster."   
  


"Ever hear of a speedometer?"   
  


Lee nodded. "Yeah. I didn't look."   
  


"What were you doing when you lost control?" Reid pressed.   
  


"I missed my exit and I was trying to get across the median so I could get back to it."   
  


Britt shot a glance at Lee. "Just where the hell was your head, boy? You can't throw a car that size around like it's a little sports car. What's the biggest thing you've ever driven?" he demanded, barely controlling his anger.   
  


Lee shrank under Britt's condemnation. "I had a Volkswagen that I had souped up at home. I sold it to come out here."   
  


"So you figured you could drive the Black Beauty like it was a hot Volksbug."   
  


"It was a Rabbit," Lee corrected, instantly wishing he had kept his mouth shut.   
  


"Same thing," Britt said sharply. "What do you intend to do now?" he asked.   
  


"I guess I'll try to fix the Black Beauty. Somehow," Lee answered.   
  


"That'll be expensive. You got the money to do it?"   
  


"No. Everything is tied up in some kind of legal hassle. The insurance company keeps on finding new reasons for not paying and my Dad wasn't a real whiz when it came to money. He didn't leave a will so everything's tied up in the courts."   
  


Britt began to soften. "You've got yourself in a real bind, young man," he said, "Well, you can stay at my place until you figure out what you're going to do next."   
  


Casey greeted Britt warmly after they had finished placing the Black Beauty in the garage. Britt filled her in on what had happened and she whisked Lee away to a late night snack and a warm bed before he could protest. She returned to find Britt glumly contemplating the damaged car.   
  


"Poor, old girl. That young man sure did a job on you," she said, gazing at the filthy, badly listing car.   
  


"Casey, we put the Black Beauty up against everything imaginable; lasers, army tanks, even an identical twin. Always without getting the tiniest scratch. Now after a few hours in that boy's hands . . . Just look at it!" Britt said unhappily as he wrapped an arm around his wife's slender waist.   
  


"What are you going to do?" she asked.   
  


"I don't know. He needs help. That much is clear. But I don't think he wants it. At least not the kind I can give him. He probably thinks that only the Green Hornet can help him. He is going to have to be disappointed. The Hornet died in that gravel pit years ago. I can't bring him back to life," he replied.   
  


"Still, he needs your help," Casey said.   
  


"I know," Britt said, his eyes troubled as he thought about what the future may hold.   
  


III   
  


His footsteps hushed by thick carpet, Lee quietly padded through the big house. It was large and expensively furnished, but not in the way he had always imagined in rich people's houses. Instead of a showy display that shouted money, everything was comfortable, homey even._ Money and good taste_, he thought wryly.   
  


Most of the rooms had their doors shut and he refrained from opening them. He did not want to be accused of snooping, but one door was open and he could not bear to refuse such an open invitation. The room was paneled in warm woods and lined with bookcases filled with books and family mementos. He quietly explored the room, occasionally examining something that caught his attention. Paintings and framed photographs of family members both living and dead were hung on the walls. He stopped before a large painting depicting Britt Reid, his wife and their two adult children. The two young people looked only a few years older than he was. The son was blonde, grey-eyed and had the same square jawed features of his father. The daughter was a raven-haired beauty with feline sea-green eyes set in a delicate heart-shaped face. A pleasant, upper class family, he thought sarcastically, and the kids were probably spoiled rotten like most rich kids who had always gotten whatever they wanted.   
  


A quiet movement told Lee that he was no longer alone in the room. Turning quickly around, he found Britt Reid watching him suspiciously with narrowed eyes. Reid had been up for several hours and was wearing an old plaid flannel shirt and worn blue jeans. He looked more like a ranch hand than the wealthy editor, owner-publisher of one of the nation's most powerful newspapers.   
  


"I didn't mean to be a snoop, Mr. Reid. I got up a little early and I didn't want to wake anybody up," Lee said, feeling uncomfortable under Reid's stern gaze. He nodded toward the painting in front of him. "You have a nice looking family. I bet you're really proud of them."   
  


"I am. John's in the Mideast, covering the civil war in Kahara. We're old friends of the royal family. I've tried to talk them into leaving, but so far they've insisted on staying. Now, Danielle, she's going to a law school out of state. I think she's going to be a fine lawyer someday."   
  


"I guess they had to leave town to get out of your shadow," Lee said.   
  


"Sometimes young people have to strike out on their own. They learn to depend on themselves instead of on their 'old man'," Britt said.   
  


Lee knew that he was needling Reid, but even he couldn't say why. Something in him made him not to want to like the older man. He let his gaze wander around the room until another painting caught his attention. It showed a man in western garb wearing a black domino mask astride a big white horse. Beneath the painting were a pair of lovingly maintained pearl handled Colt 45's in a black leather gun belt filled with what looked like silver bullets. "I always thought he was just a legend," he commented.   
  


"Most legends have some truth behind them. He was my great grandfather's younger brother. I knew him when I was a very young boy. He was quite a man," Britt explained. "He was the only survivor of an ambush that killed my great-grandfather and the rest of the Texas Rangers in his command. He buried his identity with the other men, donned that mask, and dedicated his life to bringing law and order to the West."   
  


"Sounds like you admired him a lot. Is that why you became the Green Hornet?" Lee asked.   
  


****Britt shrugged and said with a slight smile, "In a way, maybe. I don't know. In a lotof ways I think he was my inspiration when it came to being the Green Hornet. I think it runs in the blood. Just like the newspaper. My father was a second generation newspaper man. His fatherwas a reporter and my father worked for a lot of years as a reporter until he had enough money to start the Daily Sentinel," Britt's eyes grew warm with memory. "It was only a penny weekly when he first started, but he was the one who set its tone, defined itspurpose, and made it what you see today. He's the one who gave the Sentinel its heart. You see, he always believed that it was a newspaper's duty to protect the people, to expose corruption wherever it might occur, even at the highest level of government," a bitterness began to creep into his voice, "He did a good jobof it too. Too good a job. He made a lot of very powerful enemies. And when he couldn't be bought off he was framed for a murder he didn't do and wound up dying in a prison cell.****

****

****"I got back from a long trip in to Europe just in time to see him die." Britt fell silent. The image of prison bar shadows across his father's shrunken body still haunted him. 

He continued finally, "The Green Hornet was born when my father died. What else could I do? I had no other way to prove he was innocent. All** of our **so-called friends had turned their back on us. The Sentinel was completely discredited and so was the Reid name. All possible avenues of legal recourse were closed to me. It's hard to prove the innocence of a dead man. It's true when they say that the good a man does is buried with him, the evil, or what people believe is evil, lives on.   
  


****"My great-uncle had donned a mask to fight for justice and I decided that I too, would seek justice on my own, without the help of the formal legal establishment. There was a difference though. The Post-Civil War West is very different from a twentieth century city. Things are a lot more complicated and you can't just ride off into the sunset with a hearty Hi-yo Silver. ****   
  


****"People were easier to deal with in those days than they are now. My great-uncle always tried to convince people that he wore the mask in the name of justice. I decided not to even try. It wouldn't have done any good. No one ever trusts a masked vigilante. In a way it helped because the Green Hornet's reputation as a criminal helped me deal with the underworld.   
  


"Your father and I fought fire with fire. Time and time again we brought tojustice very powerful people with iron-clad proof of their crimes when no one else would touch them." Britt stopped suddenly, surprised at the old passions that were awakened in him.****   
  


"You and my father did a great job. I know my father was very proud of what you two did together," Lee admitted. "I bet you told your children everything, just like my father did."   
  


Britt shook his head, "No, I haven't, and I plan to keep that way. That's all in the past now. That's where it belongs. They have no need to know about what I did. I expect you to respect my wishes on that matter," he said firmly.   
  


"I just don't get it," Lee said, growing angry and frustrated, "Justice sounds like it's so important to you and yet when someone as close to you as my father was, is murdered, you don't care. You even admitted that you became the Green Hornet to bring the people who murdered your father to justice. Now you won't do the same thing when my father, your former partner, is murdered. Why?"   
  


Reid angrily turned on Lee. "Look, I'll do everything I can to find out who killed him, if he was indeed murdered. I have a lot of resources, a lot of connections through the Sentinel. If what you believe is true, I'll do everything in my power to bring those responsible to justice."   
  


"Short of becoming the Green Hornet, that is," Lee pressed. 

"Short of that, yes."   
  


"Why, damn it? Have you grown so slow and lazy from rubbing shoulders with the fat cats that you no longer give a damn about anyone else? Are you now so rich that anyone who isn't in your social circle doesn't matter? That somebody who covered your back doesn't count?" Lee shouted, failing to notice Britt Reid's growing fury. "Or are you just chicken? Have you turned yellow in your old age? Or maybe it was all a lie. That's why you want to cover up your past as the Green Hornet, because you know that the Green Hornet was a fraud. That it was Kato who did all the work. That he was the one behind the Green Hornet's success. That the Green Hornet was really a stinking coward. And so's Britt Reid!"   
  


Britt exploded. He backhanded Lee, sending him flying against the wall. "Don't you dare question my courage, boy! Not until somebody points a gun at your belly and tells you to dig your own damn grave!"   
  


Lee gingerly touched his jaw as he watched Reid stalk out of the room. The room was spinning around and it hurt too much when he tried to move his head. One thing was for sure. Reid was not a good man to make angry. It was a good thing that he had used his open hand or Lee would have been out cold.   
  


Casey was not surprised to find Lee busily packing his clothes. "You should have something to eat before you leave," she said, placing a tray of food on a table next to the bed.   
  


Without turning to face her, he mumbled, "I can get something on the road. Thanks anyway."   
  


"I think we need to talk about a few things first. Please sit down and let's talk while you eat," she said reasonably.   
  


"I'd rather not. I've put my foot in my mouth enough for one day," he answered.   
  


"Lee, Britt does want to help you. He really does, but he has to do it his own way. Do you have any idea what you're asking of him?"   
  


"Is it too much to ask him to do what he has done for strangers so many times before? I would've thought that he'd want to become the Green Hornet this one last time to avenge the death of his old partner. After all it's his fault in a way that my father was killed. If he hadn't kicked him out into the cold, my father would still be alive."   
  


"Kicked out in the cold?" Casey was shocked. "Is that what Kato told you?"   
  


"No. At least not in so many words. It's just whenever I'd ask him why he left, he'd just say that he had failed and had to leave. I figured my father had done something that made Reid decide to kick him out."   
  


"So he never told you what happened," she said softly as she settled into a chair. "Lee, nobody made him leave, especially Britt. What I am going to tell you is what he told me as he was getting ready to leave. Just like you are doing now." She took a deep breath and began to tell him what had happened so long ago.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


IV   
  


"I think the whole idea stinks," Kato said when Britt had finished outlining his plan.   
  


"Not that I don't appreciate your candor, but would you mind telling me why?" Britt said testily.   
  


"I have some very bad feelings about the whole thing. It all hinges on you putting yourself into Jackson's hands. There's too much that can go wrong. What if Jackson has his boys plug you right then and there? Have you thought about that?"   
  


"Yes, but I have no choice. We've tried everything to get him out in the open, but nothing has worked so far. The only thing he wants bad enough to come out of hiding is the Green Hornet. That's what I'm going to give him. And something he isn't expecting. Do you have any better ideas?" he added angrily.   
  


"Yes, I do. Drop the whole thing. We've crippled Jackson's entire organization. He'll never get it going again. He's leaving the country a broken old man. Let him go," Kato said.   
  


"I can't."   
  


"Why?" Kato demanded.   
  


"Read this," Britt said, drawing out a sheaf of papers from his desk.   
  


Kato read them and reread them, shocked by their implications. "Where did you get this?" he asked.   
  


"Frank's people at the DA's office found them among Conner's stuff on the Lady Capri, after we uncovered his masquerade as De La Claire. Apparently he kept records on all his dealings with his 'partners' as insurance. Frank wanted to keep it under wraps until he could make an airtight case against Jackson."   
  


"He also didn't want you involved," Kato commented.   
  


"Right," Britt agreed with a short nod.   
  


"If this is true, then Conners and his cronies hired Jackson to make sure your father would never leave prison alive."   
  


"That's right. Everybody, including me, thought he had given up. That he had died of a broken heart. But he didn't. He was murdered, Kato, and Jackson was the one who set it up. He had someone slip a little poison in my father's food every day. Not enough so that anyone would notice, but enough to cause a very slow decline in his health. That way when he died, no one would ever suspect the truth. Not even me. But I should've guessed the truth. My father wasn't the type of man to give up like that. No matter what the odds were."   
  


"Okay, now I can understand why you want Jackson so badly, but I still don't like your plan," Kato insisted.   
  


"Still think I should drop it? That I should just sit back and let him go?" Britt asked bitterly.   
  


"Yes I do. Maybe Mr. Scanlon can do something to stop Jackson from leaving the country. Maybe some kind of court order."   
  


"That won't work. Jackson's leaving too soon. In fact, he's leaving right now to prevent Frank from doing just that. By the time he could set everything into motion, Jackson will be gone. I have to act tonight or it'll be too late. I can't let him get away. I want him and I want him bad," Britt declared determinedly.   
  


"Do you want him so badly that you're willing to die? If you go through this, that's what will happen. I can't allow you to throw your life away like this."   
  


"Can't allow? Just how the hell are you planning on stopping me?" Britt demanded. "I've had enough of this arguing. If I have to do this alone, then I'll do it alone. Even if it means fighting you," Britt said, his fists balled, ready for a fight.   
  


"You're a damn fool," Kato answered angrily, "I'm a better fighter than you are."   
  


"You think so? Try it," Britt dared, raising his fists.   
  


Kato crouched in a defensive stance, his dark eyes blazing. Then he straightened unexpectedly. "No, I won't do it."   
  


"Why?" Britt demanded.   
  


"Because, even though I could beat the Hell out of you, I won't do it."   
  


"You think I'm so easy to beat?" Britt prodded angrily, "C'mon, try me."   
  


"I could kill you with a single blow of my hand . . . " Kato warned.   
  


"Try it."   
  


Kato turned his back on the angry publisher. "No, I won't even try, because you're too damn stubborn to know when to quit. And that's what's going to get you killed."   
  


"Fine. You stay here. Stay where you're safe and cozy. I'm going," Britt growled as he turned on his heel and strode out the room.   
  


Clothed in his Green Hornet disguise, Britt barely noticed the Black Beauty rising from its berth beneath the garage floor. He had been greatly surprised by Kato's strong opposition to his plan. True, it was dangerous, but it was the best thing he could come up with. He was still determined to get Jackson, but now he was stumped as to how he was going to do it Perhaps as he was driving to the rendezvous he would come up with an idea that might work.   
  


Even as preoccupied as he was, he heard Kato's quiet footfall behind him. Britt turned and saw that he had changed from his white valet jacket into his black chauffeur's uniform and the black mask that so much resembled his own green one. "I've changed my mind," Kato said quietly.   
  


"Why?" Britt asked.   
  


"I can't allow you to go alone. I've always considered it an honor to fight by your side. I hope you will allow me to do so tonight."   
  


"Are you still so sure that I'm going to die tonight?" Britt asked tersely.   
  


"Yes, I am."   
  


"What makes you so sure?"   
  


"All week long I've been having these nightmares . . . "   
  


"Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?"   
  


"Every night I see you falling in a hail of bullets. I see you lying in a pool of your own blood. And no matter what I do, I can't stop you from dying," Kato said, his eyes reflecting the horror of his vision.   
  


Britt avoided looking Kato in the eye. He was embarrassed by his earlier angry words and chilled by Kato's vision. "I've seen enough hunches pan out that I can't ignore your warning, but I still have to go through with this."   
  


"I know, but if I can't prevent your death, then perhaps it will be my privilege to die by your side."   
  


"I hope you're wrong, Kato, but I'm glad that you have decided to go with me," Britt said, stepping aside to allow Kato to assume his customary place in the driver's seat. 

Kato absently chewed on a gloved thumb as he watched the small television screen set in the Black Beauty's dashboard. All he could see were two men standing outside a door leading into an old brick building. Waiting in the car for the Green Hornet to work his magic was what he always hated the most He had no idea what was going on in the building the Green Hornet had entered over an hour ago. He had parked some distance away and he wished that he could get the Scanner in close enough to peek into its grimy windows, but any movement might betray the hovering television camera to the lookouts.   
  


Since a thorough search would have uncovered a bug hidden elsewhere on his person, the Green Hornet had hidden a miniature bug beneath the hornet symbol on the brow of his mask. The tiny device was very low powered and Kato would have to rely on the Scanner to increase and transmit the beeper's signal. If the Scanner was spotted and destroyed, the Green Hornet's life would be forfeit.   
  


After what had seemed an eternity, Jackson's men came out of the building, shoving the Green Hornet ahead of them. Kato, watching on his dashboard screen, was relieved to see that while the Hornet appeared to be a little roughed up, he seemed to be unhurt. It was now Kato's job to stir up a veritable hornet's nest of cops.   
  


The new mayor, to make good his promise to put the Green Hornet behind bars, had authorized enough overtime to keep the city's streets blanketed with police cars day and night. It had become almost impossible for the Black Beauty to roam the streets without picking up a police escort whenever it went out. Now Kato would take advantage of that and lead the police to Jackson and his death squad, hopefully in time to prevent the Green Hornet's execution.   
  


Soon Kato found he was enjoying himself as he led the howling police cars on a merry chase through the narrow, twisting city streets. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _he was wrong_. Everything was going just as planned. The police cars were careful not to come too close, fully aware that the twin batteries of rockets tucked into the car's rear bumper could blast a pursuer into bits of flaming wreckage. Likewise, they did not bother setting up roadblocks, since the forward rockets were perfectly capable of clearing away any obstacles in front of the Black Beauty.   
  


Unexpectedly the Black Beauty's big engine began to clatter loudly, as the oil pressure gauge dropped dangerously. Kato swore under his breath. The Black Beauty had seen some hard duty the last few weeks, and he had not had the time to conduct the usual checkup of the car's systems. He would have to lose the cops immediately before the engine froze up. He had a sudden inspiration when realized he was entering the city's 'Mile of Cars', where several auto dealers had set up of the country's largest automotive shopping centers. It was the ideal haystack in which to hide the needle.   
  


As he rounded another corner, Kato stomped onto the gas pedal, hitting the silencer and polarizing the headlights at the same time. The Black Beauty became a silent, nearly invisible wraith. It surged easily ahead of the police cars, giving Kato a large enough lead to make the Black Beauty disappear among the new Mark I's of the Lincoln dealer's stock, a wolf among the sheep.   
  


Kato anxiously watched the police care race unsuspectingly past his position. Until they passed, he would not be able to work on the Black Beauty. All the while valuable time was ticking away. The wailing sirens reminded him of banshees, the foretellers of death within a household. He tried not to think about that as he listened closely to the police band on the radio. Far too slowly silence returned as the locations given for the police cars became steadily further away.   
  


Once the police were a safe distance away, Kato jumped out of the car, and dove under the long hood. Quickly he spotted the shattered oil filter that had splattered the entire engine compartment with oil. Precious minutes ticked away as he grabbed a spare oil filter and extra oil from the trunk and refilled the engine with the oil.   
  


Finished with his work, Kato drove cautiously from his hiding place. Having no desire this time to be noticed, he continued running dark and silent. He prayed that his repairs would hold. He engaged the supercharger. This time Kato was the pursuer. He had no time to waste, every moment was more precious than gold. The Scanner signal was very weak, but after cutting out the video, he was able to boost the audio loud enough to hear a steady ping. As long as the signal was moving, there existed some hope that the Green Hornet still lived.   
  


Steadily the Black Beauty's great speed decreased the distance between Kato and the car carrying the Green Hornet. Soon he realized that the car's destination was an abandoned gravel pit that was rumored to be a gangland cemetery. The Scanner signal became stationary and Kato reactivated the video transmission. He would have to move quickly and the camera would guide him through the man-made mountains and cliffs.   
  


The roving camera relayed back to Kato a terrible scene lit by the headlights of some cars that been arranged in a circle. Several still bodies were laying beside the black hole of a grave. Fearing what he might find, Kato drove recklessly at top speed. When he arrived, he slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the Black Beauty without waiting for it to come to a full stop. Breathlessly he examined each body, and was relieved to find that none of them wore a dark green overcoat. Then he steeled himself to look into the gaping hole. It was empty.   
  


Hearing gunfire, Kato looked up and spotted a group of men chasing the Green Hornet. The Green Hornet faltered and fell as Kato stood watching. He raced up the toward the gunmen in a black rage. It didn't matter that they had guns and that he had only his hands and feet to defend himself. Kato fell on them so terribly that they didn't even think to shoot, even though Jackson screamed for them to fire. The gunmen could not resist his enraged onslaught and those few who survived his attack joined their leader in escaping to their cars. Kato promised himself that their time, too, would come, that none one would escape his righteous wrath. For now he had to find the Green Hornet.   
  


A trail of blood led him to the Green Hornet's crumpled body hidden in the shadows of some large boulders. The man was still alive, barely hanging onto consciousness. Kato gently cradled the badly wounded man in his arms. He tried to make him more comfortable. Even in the fitful moonlight he could see how badly the Green Hornet was hurt.   
  


"I'm getting you to a hospital now," he said, trying to stop his voice from cracking with grief. He wished that there was some way he could take on some of the pain that wracked the Green Hornet's body.   
  


The Green Hornet grabbed Kato's arm with surprising strength. Through blood flecked lips he protested, "No. It's no use. I just want to go home." He tried to apologize for involving the DA and Casey, but Kato wouldn't let him. He urged that the Green Hornet would be able to talk to them himself. That he would survive. The Green Hornet didn't believe him. He didn't it believe himself, no matter how hard he wished he could. The Green Hornet suddenly arched in agony and then fell limp with a soft gasp of pain. Kato bowed his head and began to cry in helpless grief as a soft snow began to fall out of the black sky.   
  


Against hope, Kato removed his glove and searched for a pulse in the Green Hornet's neck. His fingers were so cold that at first he was not able to feel anything, but it was still there, weak and thready, yes, but it was still there. Kato tenderly lifted the Green Hornet in his arms and carried him down the steep slope, unmindful of the heavy weight in his arms and the treacherous footing of the sand beneath his feet.   
  


Once back at the Black Beauty, he quickly dug out the first aid kit, blankets and anything else that could stop the flow of blood from the Green Hornet's many wounds. He quickly stripped off the Green Hornet's mask, overcoat and the shirt beneath it. He had to move quickly or the intense cold and the terrible loss of blood would shove the Green Hornet into Death's waiting arms. Kato wished he could work in the car, but it would have been too cramped. As it was, he would have to be very careful not cause further injury when he placed the Green Hornet onto the back seat.   
  


The drive back to the city was a nightmare. Kato's driving skills were tested to their limit as he raced Black Beauty on the thin edge between safety and disaster. A thin sheet of ice had formed on the road making any kind of speed virtually impossible. Big, wet snowflakes covered the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it, so that he could barely see where he was going. All the while Kato tried to listen for the Green Hornet's strained breathing, fearing that he might be carrying a dead man. He decided that if the Green Hornet died on the way he would pull the Black Beauty off the road and set all its systems on overload, resulting in a funeral pyre for the both of them. He had no desire to outlive the Green Hornet.   
  


Kato drove the Black Beauty directly up to the hospital's emergency entrance, not caring whether it was recognized or not. He discarded his mask just before he climbed out of the car and carried Britt Reid into Emergency Room. Despite the protests of the medical personnel, Kato insisted on bearing him without help into the treatment room. Once Kato had assured them that the blood that covered his clothing was not his own, they turned their attention to the seemingly hopeless task of saving Britt Reid's life. Kato remained in the room, grimly silent as he watched the doctors do their work, resolving that this time he would not leave Britt Reid's side, not when he was in the most critical battle of his life.   
  


When he tried to follow as Britt was wheeled into an operating room, a petite brunette nurse tried to stop him from following.   
  


"You can't go in there, sir," she said.   
  


"Let me go. I won't be in the way. I promise," Kato said, determined not to let Britt out of his sight.   
  


"If you go in there, you could endanger his life. The doctors must be allowed to work undisturbed. You've done everything you could. Why don't you let me take you to the cafeteria where you can get a cup of coffee and talk over a few things," she said, trying to sound reasonable.   
  


"Done all I can? If I had really done all I could, Mr. Reid wouldn't be in there more dead than alive," he angrily retorted. "Besides, what do we have to discuss?"   
  


"Well, there are some forms here that have to be filled out. You know, insurance, medical history and so on," she replied as she tried to coax him away from the O.R.'s door.   
  


"How can you talk about forms at a time like this? If he dies, they won't matter," Kato protested.   
  


Noticing a pair of hefty security guards moving toward them, she pleaded, "I can understand how you feel, but please don't make any trouble. That would only make things worse."   
  


Kato hesitated. She gently grabbed his arm and began drawing him away from the door. "You seem very dedicated to Mr. Reid. Why don't you tell me about him."   
  


"I don't feel like talking," Kato said as he reluctantly followed her lead, knowing all too soon word would get out that Britt Reid had been shot. Then the hospital would be wall to wall with reporters despite the blizzard outside. He didn't want to talk to them or to the police.   
  


In the cafeteria the nurse shuffled through the forms, making sure she had everything properly filled out. "Well, it looks like we have everything that we need. I'm amazed that you were able to remember everything," she said. 

"I've had to do this a few times before. There's been other attempts on Mr. 

Reid's life before this one."   
  


"It sounds like he's made a lot of enemies."   
  


"You wouldn't want his enemies for friends, Miss," Kato pointed out.   
  


"I see," she said quietly, "You don't seem to be the servant type." She observed.   
  


"What is a 'servant type'?" Kato challenged.   
  


The nurse blushed in embarrassment, "I didn't mean insult you. I just didn't think you were the type to be satisfied with obeying orders from somebody."   
  


"Everybody obeys orders from somebody. The head nurse, the doctors, they are your bosses. You have to obey their orders," Kato pointed out. "Mr. Reid is my boss. I'd rather have him for a boss than anybody else. Or any other job for that matter. As his valet I do things, like making sure the bills get paid, that there's food in the house and that anything that breaks gets fixed. For that I get very well paid, my own quarters rent free and since Mr. Reid spends most of his time at the Daily Sentinel, most of my time is my own. How many people can say that about their job?"   
  


"But do you get any respect in your job? Don't people treat you like part of the woodwork when they come to Mr. Reid's house? Don't you ever wish to be in the limelight instead of being in the shadow of somebody else?" she asked.   
  


Kato smiled and shrugged. "Everybody is the shadows when Mr. Reid is around. He's an extraordinary man. He's not afraid to stand up for what he believes and he's willing put everything on the line for his beliefs. There's not a lot of people that you can say that about. I'd rather serve a man like that than run a Fortune 500 company."   
  


"Still, don't you find that kind of life boring? I love my life as a nurse. There's so much to do, so much to learn and I'm helping people. I would think you would feel isolated."   
  


"I like it that way. It gives me plenty of time to practice Gung Fu."   
  


"Gung Fu? What's that?"   
  


"It's a very old Chinese martial art. It takes a great many years to master. I like to think I'm very good at it, but there's ancient masters whose skills were nearly magical. Those masters were usually monks, but let's face it, in America**,** it's kind of hard to find a Chinese monastery. So by working for Mr. Reid, I get paid, and still have the free time to perfect my Gung Fu."   
  


"I guess I was mistaken. It sounds like you have a perfect arrangement," she commented.   
  


"Yeah, except now Mr. Reid is dying or could even be dead now," Kato said sadly, "The most important part of my job is to protect him and I failed. For all my skills, I couldn't protect him when he needed it the most. His enemies have won and he has lost because I couldn't stop him from taking a chance when he shouldn't have."   
  


The nurse placed comforting hand placed on Kato's hands in sympathy. A weary voice intruded, "You the one who brought Britt Reid in?" said a man dressed in surgical green.   
  


"Yeah. My name is Kato. How is Mr. Reid? Is he going to be okay?" Kato asked eagerly as he pushed out of his chair.   
  


The surgeon took out a cigarette, lit it and took a long slow drag, measuring Kato, trying to decipher his relationship with the man whose life he had just worked so hard to save. "I take it you work for Reid?"   
  


"Yes. I run his household and act as his bodyguard."   
  


"Didn't do a very good job of protecting him," the surgeon commented wryly. Then noticing that he was adding to Kato's grief, he added, "Sorry, I'm tired. I shouldn't have said that. Mr. Reid is alive, but I need to discuss his condition with his family. Can you get a hold of them?"   
  


"He doesn't have any family. They're all gone. But he does have some very close friends. People who are just like family. Like me. Please what's wrong?"   
  


The surgeon looked around the room, noticing a few scattered diners in hospital garb, "Why don't you contact those people who are closest to Mr. Reid, and I'll tell you everything once everybody is together in my office," he suggested.   
  


As Kato left the cafeteria for the phone, he noticed that the hallway was packed with police and reporters. As he had feared the wounding of a man as prominent as Britt Reid had brought every news hound and cop to the hospital. He was in no mood for the shouted questions and popping flashbulbs. He had hoped that no one would realize that he was connected to Reid, but enough of them knew the publisher well enough to recognize him. That and the fact that he still had Reid's blood on his uniform. He groaned as a familiar form barged its way through the crowd. "What the hell happened, Kato? It was your job to protect Britt!" shouted Mike Axford as he shouldered people out of his way.   
  


"Mike, please. Not here," pleaded Lenore Case as she and the D.A., Frank Scanlon followed in his wake.   
  


"Just where the hell do you think we should discuss it? Britt's funeral, maybe?" he angrily retorted, and felt immediately sorry for his harsh words when he saw the pain in her tear-reddened eyes.   
  


Scanlon quickly took control. "Let's discuss this somewhere privately," he moved to the waiting surgeon's side. "Dr. Parsons? I take it you're going to your office?"   
  


"Yes."   
  


"Good," Scanlon motioned to a group of police officers to hold off the reporters, then he yelled over the roar of the crowd for attention. When most of the voices had been silenced, he spoke, "Look, people, when we get all the details, we'll set up a press conference where you can ask all your questions." At the crowd's grumbled protest, he added, "C'mon guys, back off. Can't you show a little decency? After all, Britt Reid's one of your own. Show him a little respect by not turning this into a circus."   
  


Dr. Parsons tiredly leaned back in his chair, sipping his steaming black coffee as he watched Britt Reid's friends settle down in the chairs that had been jammed into his cluttered office. The reporter, Axford, a rumpled looking man with faded blue eyes and equally faded red hair had at first refused a chair, preferring to pace the floor as he mauled the shapeless fedora that he held in his beefy hands. Only at the D.A.'s insistence had he finally sat down. Parsons guessed that Axford must be one of the old hands at Reid's newspaper and probably still regarded the young publisher as a wet-behind-the-ears kid.   
  


Parsons preferred to watch Britt Reid's secretary as she delicately dabbed at the ruins of her mascara. She was a pretty strawberry blond with warm brown eyes and a slender model's figure. He was willing to bet that she was also Reid's lover. If not, the man would have to be blind, stupid or both.   
  


Last was the D.A, Frank Scanlon. Parsons had seen him a lot on television during the last campaign. With grey flecked brown hair and dark rimmed glasses, he had a face that led you to believe that he was trustworthy and reliable, not the most dynamic of traits, but fine for a District Attorney. Scanlon looked drained and grief stricken. It was obvious that the man was not there in a purely official capacity.   
  


He took a deep breath. He had delayed long enough. "I'll give it to you straight. First, the good news. He's young and in top physical condition, and somehow through sheer luck, most of his internal organs were missed. What damage there was, we were able to repair. Taken separately each on of his wounds is survivable . . . "   
  


Impatiently Axford interrupted with a growl, "So what's the bad news, Doc?"   
  


"The bad news, Mr. Axford, is that the human body can only take so much punishment. I took so many bullets out of him that I lost count. He also lost a lot of blood. Most of what's circulating in him now isn't his own. By rights he shouldn't be alive. As it was his heart stopped twice while we were working him. It's only through Kato's quick work that he's alive at all. We've done all that we can. Whether he makes it out of danger is now up to him. And God."   
  


"Is there some reason why Mr. Reid might not want to live, Doctor?" Kato asked worriedly.   
  


"His left leg was very badly injured. A bullet shattered the bone very badly. We can try to bolt and wire it together, but I think most of the orthopedic surgeons in this country will agree with me when I say that I doubt that he'll ever be able to achieve anywhere normal use of it. That is if we even manage to save it," the doctor said grimly.   
  


"So let me get this straight, Doc. Even if Britt lives, he's gonna wind up a cripple for the rest of his life?" angrily asked Axford.   
  


"I'm afraid so," came the quiet reply.   
  


Axford stared mournfully at the floor. "First Britt's father gets framed and dies in prison and now Britt's gonna die too. Or wind up a cripple. It just ain't right! Crooks like the Green Hornet get off Scott free, while decent people like Britt wind up dying!" he growled angrily. He turned on the downcast Kato angrily, "Damn it, Kato! How did this happen?"   
  


Kato hesitated, trying to think of what to say. "Mr. Reid had a meeting with an informer. I don't know who it was. Mr. Reid didn't tell me. He rarely does. He was told to come alone, so I stayed in the car while he went inside. I heard gunfire and when I went in I found that Mr. Reid had been shot and that his attackers had already split. I did my best to patch him up and brought him here as fast as I could."   
  


Axford opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by a sharp look from Scanlon who asked Kato quietly, "Did Britt have a chance to give you an idea of who attacked him?"   
  


"None. He was unconscious the entire time," Kato lied.   
  


Axford couldn't keep silent a moment longer, "Damn it! It was your job to protect him! Why didn't you insist on going in with him?"   
  


Kato bowed his head guiltily under the reporter's assault, "You're right, Mr. Axford, I did fail him. I deserve your hatred."   
  


Casey rose to his defense, "Mike, you know as well as I do that when Mr. Reid makes up his mind to do something, he's impossible to stop."   
  


"I could've stopped him," Axford countered.   
  


"You didn't have any luck keeping him out of trouble after his father hired you to keep him out of trouble. And he was only a teenager then," she pointed out.   
  


"Yeah, well, if I remember right, Kato did a lot to help him get away with his little escapades. They made me look like a patsy most of the time," returning his attention to Kato, Axford growled, "And look where your game playing has gotten him. If he doesn't die, he's gonna wind up a cripple the rest of his life. He won't want to live anyway.   
  


"I've had enough of this talking. It's not gonna do Britt one damn bit of good." He stood up, mashing his battered hat onto his head. "I betcha the Green Hornet's involved in this and I'm gonna find out how," he said as he lumbered out the door.   
  


"Mike!" shouted Casey, but Axford had already slammed the door behind him. "Kato, I'm sorry. He didn't really mean it. I know that you did everything you could," she said trying to comfort Kato.   
  


"No, Miss Case, he's right. I didn't do all that I could. I will never forgive myself for that," he said miserably.   
  


Casey bit her lip, knowing there was nothing she could say. She turned to the surgeon, "Dr. Parsons, may we see Mr. Reid now. Please?" she said hesitantly.   
  


"He's still unconscious," the doctor hedged uneasily.   
  


"Doctor, if . . . if Mr. Reid doesn't make it through the night, I want to have had the chance to say goodbye," she said, valiantly trying not to break into tears.   
  


"I really don't think you should. Seeing him in his present condition will only make things worse. Perhaps it would be better for you to remember him as he was."   
  


"It doesn't matter. I just want to see him for a short while," she pleaded earnestly.   
  


Casey felt her knees weaken momentarily as she entered Britt's room. She was revolted by its cold sterility; by the way the machinery that filled it enveloped the motionless form on the crisp sheeted bed in a webbing of tubes and wires. The slow beep, beep of a machine in the corner monitored the dim flame of life that still burned in the young publisher. Perhaps the doctor was right, she thought. Perhaps it would have been better to remember Britt as being vibrant with life, not laying there, so deathly pale, more dead than alive. Usually so strong and seemingly invulnerable, he now seemed so very fragile, his life dependent upon a safety net of modern technology. Her hand trembled as she gently moved a stray lock of dark hair from his broad forehead.   
  


"Oh, Frank," she sobbed. "He never really let me get close to him. Even though I knew all about him being the Green Hornet, he always kept me at arm's length, like he was afraid of getting too close. There are so many things I should have said to him. Now I'll never be able to... "****

** "**I should've told him that I love him."****

She bent and placed a tender kiss on Britt's cheek, "Goodbye," she said, no longer trying to hold back the tears that rolled freely down her face. "Frank, I think I would like to go home now," she said as Scanlon fatherly enveloped her in his arms, offering whatever comfort he could give.   
  


_What a waste_, thought Scanlon, _What a damn waste._   
  


Even though he had frequently benefitted from Britt's activities as the Green Hornet, he had always worried that someday everything would come apart and now they had.   
  


"Kato, I moved the car away from the emergency room entrance just before everybody else showed up. I'm afraid that with the snow falling as heavy as it is now, you probably won't find it until spring. Why don't I give you a lift home? There are a few things I want to talk to you about." Even though the explanation Kato had given Axford had been adequate enough for the public, he had to know the truth.   
  


"No, but thanks anyway. I want to stay with Mr. Reid for a while," Kato replied.   
  


"I understand, but there are some things I really need to talk to you about," insisted Scanlon.   
  


"I know, but not now. Later," Kato replied.   
  
  
  
  
  


Dr. Parsons came in to find that Kato was still in the room. "Why don't you catch up with your friends and go home? There's nothing you can do here."   
  


"Do you think he'll make it through the night?" Kato asked.   
  


The doctor sighed tiredly. He hated dealing with a patient's relatives and friends, especially with bad news. At least this young oriental seemed to be somewhat composed. That made the job easier. "I don't think he will. He's just too badly injured. I'm sorry," he added.   
  


"Then let me stay the night with him. I don't want him to die alone," Kato pleaded.   
  


The surgeon studied Kato's face, saw his determination. Letting him do what he wanted would be a lot easier than trying to argue with him. It would be only for the night. "You're right. No one should have to die alone. Okay, you can stay with him. But can't I at least have someone bring you some fresh clothes? I think you'd be a lot more comfortable, and you wouldn't be worrying my staff so much. They're not too sure that they shouldn't be treating you too."   
  


Kato looked down at his stained clothes. Stained with Britt Reid's blood. He should keep them on, to remind himself. Not that he could ever forget. "Okay, I guess you're right. I don't want to cause any problems."   
  


"There's one thing though, doctor . . . "   
  


"What's that?"   
  


"Don't you or anyone else give up on Mr. Reid. I won't. I know him. He'll make it through the night. He will survive."   
  


Britt Reid did not die that night, nor the next. For a week he laid in a coma, hovering between life and death. Casey and Axford tried to keep an illusion of normalcy around the Daily Sentinel, but without Britt Reid, no one had the heart to go on with the mundane tasks of the big city newspaper. The Sentinel's staff acted as it they were caught in a waking nightmare. They moved mechanically about their duties, not daring to hope about their critically wounded employer. Conversations would slow to a halt as if there didn't seem to be any point in continuing them. Secretaries frequently fled to the ladies room to sob in private. Even the city seemed to be wrapped in the same depression as the worst blizzard in history shrouded it in traffic snarling snow and ice.   
  


While Britt remained in the coma, Kato refused to leave his bedside post. He neither slept nor ate. He sat lotus fashion on the floor, never in the way, but always watchful, his eyes locked on the unconscious man in the bed. To the nurses who came in to check on their patient's condition, Kato seemed as much in a coma as his employer. It was whispered among some of them that if it had not been for his presence Reid would have died the first night. But Kato would not let him die, he had appointed himself as Reid's guardian against the grim angel of death.   
  


Britt woke violently from the coma. Confused, he struggled to free himself from the equipment that surrounded him. Kato rushed to calm him, "It's all right! You're safe now!" he shouted trying to penetrate the fog in Britt's brain. An orderly, alerted by the commotion, quickly came in and began to strap Reid down. Kato roughly shoved him away. "Don't! That'll only make him fight harder!"   
  


"He'll rip the I.V.'s out!" loudly protested a nurse as she came into the room.   
  


"Then take them out before he does. I can hold him down while you do it," Kato ordered through clenched teeth.   
  


Despite his seriously weakened condition, Britt was still hard to restrain. Still believing he was being hunted by a pack of bloodthirsty killers, he fought with a strength born of pain and fear. 

"You're safe now," Kato urged calmly, as he restrained Reid as gently as he could. "It's over. It's all over. You're okay." He kept on saying over and over. 

Gradually Britt's struggles eased as Kato's familiar voice entered his slowly returning awareness. "You've been out for about a week," Kato explained when recognition finally appeared in Britt's eyes   
  


"A week?" Britt croaked, his voice dry from disuse. He quickly checked the room for bars or police officers. There weren't any. Did that mean that Kato had managed the impossible? That they were still free men? "You look like hell," he said, forcing his cracked lips into a smile.   
  


"You don't look so hot yourself," Kato replied. "The cops are still looking for the guys who shot you. I couldn't give them any leads. Maybe the next time you set up a meeting, you'll tell me who you're going to be seeing," he said, hoping that he had said enough to clue Britt in on the situation.   
  


"Yeah," Britt answered, "And I'll make sure that I take you along too."   
  


Kato smiled and nodded in agreement, as he allowed a wave of doctors and nurses to surge between himself and Britt. Despite what he had said, there would be no next time. It was over, all over. Now that he was sure that Britt Reid would live, he was free to do what honor required. He would get Jackson and all of his surviving flunkies any way he could.   
  


Casey found Kato back at Britt Reid's townhouse in his personal quarters. "I came here to get some of Mr. Reid's things. He's wondering why you left so suddenly," she nodded toward the open suitcase on his bed. "Are you going somewhere?" she asked.   
  


"I'm leaving," Kato replied.   
  


"For how long?" she asked.   
  


"Forever."   
  


"Why?"   
  


"I failed to protect him, Miss Case. I knew his plan wasn't going to work. I knew that something bad was going to happen that night, and I failed to stop him," he said miserably.   
  


"Kato, we all know how difficult it is to change his mind once he's decided to go ahead and do something. That's the kind of man he is. The only way you could've stopped him was to have broken a leg or something," she protested.   
  


"That's what I should've done. Broken a leg. That would've been better that losing it altogether," Kato said bitterly as he finished packing.   
  


"Mr. Reid doesn't blame you for what happened. He knows that it wasn't your fault. We all know that. Even Mike does, despite what he said at the hospital. He knows the way Mr. Reid is. We all do. Please stay. Please, for Mr. Reid's sake. He's going to be needing you when he gets out of the hospital."   
  


"No. I can't stay. Now, he says that he doesn't blame me. But he'll change his mind. Don't you see? Every time he'd see me, he'd remember what happened. I'd be a constant reminder of the life he had and can never have again. Even if the doctor's save his leg, he can't ever become the Green Hornet again. Otherwise he'll keep on taking chances until he finally does get himself killed. I can't left that happen. It's better if I make a clean break now," Kato said forcefully.   
  


"Can't you at least see him and tell him why you're leaving?"   
  


"No way! If I did that he'd talk me out of going. I have to go while I still can."   
  


"At least leave a note explaining why."   
  


"No."   
  


"That'll really hurt him."   
  


"I know. Maybe if he's angry enough, he won't try to find me."   
  


"What are you planning on doing after you leave here?"   
  


"Jackson's still alive and so are some of his men. He killed Mr. Reid's father, and he almost killed Mr. Reid. I won't allow him to try again."   
  


"And after that?"   
  


"I don't know," he said with a shrug.   
  


"Please don't do anything foolish. Promise me you'll take care of yourself. I'd like to hear from you once in awhile," Casey said, sadly knowing that she couldn't stop Kato; that he was as stubborn as his boss.   
  


"I'll do what I must Miss Case, but I promise to be as careful as I can. One thing, Miss Case. You're right. He will be needing somebody when he gets out of the hospital. I think you can do a lot more for him than I ever could. He really does love you, it's just that he doesn't know it yet. But he will. I'm sure of that." Kato hefted the suitcases from his bed. Casey tearfully hugged him before he left the house, never to return.   
  
  
  


V   
  
  
  


Returning to the present, Casey said, "A few weeks later a pair of boys out hunting rabbits found the frozen bodies of the gangsters at the gravel pit. The police thought that they had been the losers in a gangland power struggle. They also found the Green Hornet's coat that Kato had left there and thought that he had been killed in the same fight. We were lucky that so much time had passed between Britt showing up wounded and the discovery of the bodies. No one ever even considered that there might be a connection between what had happened to Britt and the Green Hornet's disappearance. No one except for Mike. He's still positive that the Green Hornet engineered the attack on Britt and then left the bloody clothes so that everyone would think that he was dead."   
  


"Did you ever see my father again?" Lee asked.   
  


"Only once. About a year after he left the townhouse, he met me at a park near the Sentinel. He said that he had been successful in destroying Jackson and the rest of his gang, and that we didn't have to worry any more about them. He gave me his chauffeur's uniform and mask and told me to give them to his son, if he should ever have one. I guess he had a feeling that someday it might be necessary to bring the Green Hornet back to life.   
  


"After that I'd get an occasional note. He wrote to me about his marriage to the nurse he had met at the hospital, and later when you were born. I didn't hear very much from him after that."   
  


"Didn't the police ever question Mr. Reid about what happened?"   
  


"They did, but Britt always told them he didn't remember. They tried to question your father while Britt was in the coma, but Frank always held them off. And when Britt did come to, Kato had left."   
  


"I'm surprised that Mr. Reid didn't try to find out why my father left. Didn't he ever ask you why?"   
  


"He did, but I had promised Kato that I wouldn't tell him, so I had to lie and say that I didn't know. The thing is, I think Britt does know why; that deep down in his heart he knows the truth. Still the way he chose to leave, that still hurts Britt a lot. Even after all this time."   
  


"No wonder he doesn't like me."   
  


"Well, you have to admit you didn't go out of your way to make him like you," Casey commented.   
  


"Yeah," Lee admitted, "I guess I didn't. I thought Mr. Reid had done something wrong to my father, and now it turns out it was all his fault. You know, he always said that why he's telling me all those Green Hornet stories was because if something happened to him, I was supposed to go to Mr. Reid. Now I understand why. I was supposed to restore his honor. And now I've made Mr. Reid so mad at me that he'll never want to help me find my father's killers."   
  


Casey placed a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Or on your father. The fault was never his, even though I know he never forgave himself. I just wish he could have come back. It's terrible for a friendship to end like that. And now, there will never be a chance for all those hurt feelings to be healed.   
  


"Yet, for all the pain it caused, Kato was right. If he hadn't left, Britt would have become the Green Hornet again. He would have continued taking chances until either one or both of them had been maimed or killed. The Green Hornet was something he never would have given up willingly. Sometimes I think he would have even risked the Daily Sentinel for the Green Hornet."   
  


She sighed and smiled ruefully, "Maybe this sounds selfish, but I think I'm glad that Kato forced Britt to give up the Green Hornet. In a way things turned out for the best. Britt and I have two lovely children, and I'm sure Kato loved you and your mother a great deal. That's something that would have never happened if Kato had stayed."   
  


"Does Mr. Reid feel the same way?"   
  


"I don't know. I know there are quite a few times when he wishes he was the Green Hornet again. There is something seductive about being the Green Hornet. I guess it has something to do with the power of that big, black car, those weapons, and of being young, strong and virtually unbeatable. Running a newspaper can't possibly compete with the kind of excitement he got from being tested to his limit and always coming out on top. I think he misses it a lot more than he'll ever admit. It's frustrating for him too. There's a lot of things that he can't do anything about as Britt Reid, but as the Green Hornet he could have done something. I know he has tried very had to put the Green Hornet behind him, and now for you to bring it all up again . . .   
  


"That's why he's so angry with you. You remind him of all he has lost. That's why he was so willing to give you the Black Beauty, even though he knew it could lead to disaster."   
  


"I'm sorry," Lee said, "I messed up your lives." He rose to leave. "I guess I better leave now."   
  


"No, don't leave," Casey urged. "I didn't tell you all this to make you leave. I want you to understand exactly what you are asking of us, of Britt. He does want to help you, but you must be willing to let him do it his way. If that does mean bringing the Green Hornet back, then that will be his decision. Not yours. Not mine. His. No one has the right to force him to do it, or even to stop him, if he decides he needs to. He's paid a high price for that right and it can't be taken away from him. You must also remember that if he does choose to become the Green Hornet again, he can't do it alone. The Green Hornet needs a Kato. Are you willing to support him with your life, to follow him even into Hell, if he decides it's necessary, just like your father used to do?"   
  


Lee sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I think I need to think a few things over," he said.   
  


Casey smiled gently. "Take your time. Why don't you each this lunch I've brought and afterwards I'll show you where the gym is."   
  


"The gym?" Lee asked.   
  


"Kato always said that he was better at solving a problem after a good workout," she answered.   
  


Lee thought a moment. "Yeah, that does sound like a good idea." Finding his appetite surprisingly restored, he grabbed a fork. "I didn't realize until now that I'm starving," he said before diving into the plate before him.   
  


Lee quickly lost himself in the concentration of the kata. Breathing deeply as he flowed from movement to movement, he began to gain some measure of mental balance. The ancient traditional movements of gung fu helped him find his center, to achieve a degree of internal tranquility and allow him to calmly consider where he stood. Although he had not yet come to any decisions, he was starting to feel more relaxed and positive. If nothing else, he could control his mind and his body. 

He suddenly stopped when he noticed a tall figure dressed in a soft, loose fitting warm up suit. The grey of Britt's clothing, hair and eyes contrasted sharply with his deeply tanned complexion. _Damn_, Lee thought, _the man moves too quietly for a guy with a bum leg._   
  


"Please continue what you're doing. I didn't mean to interrupt," Britt apologized, "I always enjoyed watching Kato while he was doing the kata. It always reminded me of a ballet."   
  


"No problem. I'm almost done anyway," Lee said as he picked up a towel and began to dry off. "By the way, I want to apologize for what I said earlier. I was out of line. Mrs. Reid explained everything to me and I'm sorry. I didn't understand. Maybe itwould be better if I leave today."   
  


"I see," Britt said disgustedly, "After barging into my life and nearly destroying the Black Beauty, you've decided to turn your back on the big mess you've made."   
  


"That's not true," Lee protested.   
  


"Oh? Well, tell me what is the truth? It looks to me like you've gotten scared and have decided to dump the whole mess in my lap for me to clean up."   
  


"I'm not afraid. Not of you or anybody else. I just thought it would be a good idea for me to get the hell out of your hair. And now you're mad at me for wanting to leave. Why I could just . . . "   
  


"Just what? You think you can take me on, boy?" Britt growled.   
  


Lee hesitated. He had already had a small taste of Reid's temper and wasn't eager to experience it again.   
  


"Well, boy?"Britt goaded, "Afraid to take on an old man with a bad leg? Afraid I might knock some sense into you?"   
  


"Why don't you back off, Reid? I don't want to hurt you. You're too old to be fighting."   
  


Britt's eyes flashed angrily, "Too old? You don't want to hurt me? What makes you think you can? You're nothing but a kid." Britt opened his stance, "C'mon kid, let's see you try. Or are you afraid?" he challenged.   
  


Lee exploded. He threw a stiff armed punch toward Britt's mid-section only to find his fist in an iron grip. Britt pulled him off balance and sent him to the floor in a bone jarring crash. Lee rolled back to his feet and flew at Reid only to find the older man stepping easily aside and himself back dusting the floor with his backside. Again and again Lee attacked only to find Britt easily brushing him aside like an ill-tempered bear. Finally Lee stayed where he landed, his back against the wall, gasping for breath.   
  


"Is that the best you can do? Either you were a rotten student or your father was a lousy teacher. Which was it boy?" Reid was breathing as heavily as he was, but still was refusing to call it off. He pulled of the sweatshirt and wiped his face with it before throwing it into a corner. "You're not tired, are you boy? Don't tell me you've been beaten by an old man?"   
  


Lee took a deep breath, swallowed and took another deep breath, trying to slow his breathing. He had underestimated the older man. The sight of Reid's badly scarred but well muscled torso suddenly reminded him of who he was fighting. He had thought he was fighting a man grown soft with the easy life of a wealthy executive, but now he realized that this man had once been the Green Hornet. Reid still had all the instincts of an experienced street fighter.   
  


Lee had won several full contact martial arts competitions, but he had never fought for his life like Reid had. He had been trying to overwhelm him with his most impressive moves in an attempt to force the older man to respect him as if he could gain points in a competition. He would have to rethink his strategy.   
  


Lee slowly rose to his feet. It was time for him to start using his head instead of sliding around the floor on his butt. He took a few moments to study Reid. He watched Reid more closely as he paced the floor waiting for him to catch his breath. When he had met the older man he was using a cane. Now he wasn't but watching the big man Lee noticed a slight limp, a slight favoring of the left leg. He replayed the brief battle in his mind move by embarrassing move. With a brief flash of anger Lee realized that Reid had been playing with him like a matador plays an enraged bull.   
  


He moved toward Reid, more slowly this time, with more deliberation. He was as tired as Reid was, but he was younger. He attacked, this time forcing Reid to fall back onto his left leg, the weaker one. Reid recovered quickly, but this time Lee stayed out of his greater reach and remained on his feet. He attacked repeatedly, forcing Reid to put weight onto his bad leg. The older man was starting to tire. His strategy was working. He could see Reid's left leg beginning to tremble under the strain. Reid knew it too, but to Lee's surprise he saw in his eyes not anger but shrewd approval as though the younger man was finally getting the message.   
  


Under the constant assault Britt's leg finally gave way, sending him crashing to the ground. With a shout of triumph Lee threw himself onto the older man, intending to pin him to the ground, to force him to take back all that he had said.   
  


Instead he found himself on his back with Reid over him. He tried to get free of the powerful grip that pinned him down, but it was useless.   
  


"Yield?" Reid demanded.   
  


"Yeah," Lee answered, grudgingly giving up his struggle.   
  


Reid released his hold and allowed Lee to pull himself to a sitting position. "I forgot one of my father's most important lessons," Lee said.   
  


"What's that?" Reid questioned.   
  


"When fighting a bear, stay the hell out of its reach," Lee answered with a levity he didn't feel. "I guess I failed."   
  


"Failed at what?"   
  


"I wanted to get your respect by beating you. I wanted to show you how good I am. Instead you beat the hell out of me."   
  


Reid shook his head. "You didn't fail. You did very well, especially after you started using your head. I think there may be some hope for you after all," he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.   
  


"Uh, thanks. I think," Lee said, not quite sure whether he was being complimented or not. He thought for a moment. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay on and try to fix the Black Beauty. I'd also like it if you could help me find the people who killed my father. You know, any way you could. I'd sure appreciate it," he said with a new humility.   
  


Britt nodded agreeably. "I'll be glad to help you, both with the Black Beauty and with finding out what happened to your father." He checked his watch. "Why don't you get a shower and some rest? I'll contact somebody at the Sentinel and in a few hours we'll go over there and get things moving."   
  


Lee grinned. Now he was getting somewhere. He rose to his feet and offered a hand up to Britt.   
  


"No thanks, I think I'll sit here for a few moments and catch my breath," Britt said.   
  


Casey watched as Lee trot lightly out of the gym. She had watched the entire fight from the doorway. She handed Britt his cane and reluctantly refrained from helping him get to his feet. "How do you feel?" she asked worriedly.   
  


"Leg hurts like hell. I'll feel a lot better after a hot shower," he replied as he straightened with a grimace. He snorted ruefully. "Most fun I've had in years," he said with a crooked grin.   
  


Casey kissed him and stroked his chin, "I can think of other ways of having fun that don't hurt so much. How about a long soak in the tub while I scrub your back?" she asked teasingly.   
  


A broad, white-toothed grin greeted her suggestion. "I think it's a good thing we got a big tub." 


	2. Death in the Mountains

  
  
  
  


Chapter Two 

Death in the Mountains   
  


I   
  


Ed Lowrey impatiently paced the small anteroom to Britt Reid's office at the Daily Sentinel. "C'mon Jennie, didn't the boss say why he wanted me?" he asked the evening secretary.   
  


"For the hundredth time, no. Mr. Reid didn't say why he want to see you. All he said was to expect you and that he'd be coming in to talk to you about something. I don't make it a policy to grill the boss," she said tiredly. "Did you happen to get in trouble with him again?" she asked.   
  


"Not that I know of. I've been a real good boy," he said wryly. "Well, I hope it's something interesting. It's been a long boring week with nothing to cover but the Presidential race. Those guys have been conducting themselves like perfect gentlemen. No mudslinging at all. Not that Reid would ever let something like that get into his precious paper. What a drag," he complained.   
  


"If you feel that way, why don't you quit?" remarked Britt as he entered the room with Lee in tow.   
  


"Jeez, Mr. Reid, you know I like working here. The Sentinel's the best paper to work for in the whole country," quickly backpedaled Lowrey, fearing that he had really blown it this time.   
  


"Right, you just like to gripe for the hell of it," Britt said as he opened the door to his office. "Do you want to hear what I have for you, or do you think Dunigan can find something more interesting for you to do?"   
  


Lowrey rapidly shook his head. "No way. I'm all ears," he said, cringing inwardly. He knew that if the city editor found out he had refused an assignment from the boss, his next assignment would be something pleasant. Like counting rats in the city's sewers.   
  


"Good," said Britt as everyone settled into the chairs he indicated before his desk. "I'm glad to see that I have your interest. This young man's name is Lee. His father, Kato, was an old friend of mine. Lee, this is Ed Lowrey and despite his lack of discretion, is the best man I can think of to help you."   
  


Lowrey's brows rose in surprise. "Kato? Wasn't he your valet or something? I though I heard that he had disappeared right after you got shot up some years ago," He questioned. There had been a lot of office gossip about the angry young man who had invaded Britt Reid's office and Lowrey wondered what had gone on between these two. Reid had a reputation of not accepting any kind of flak from anybody. Yet now the two of them seemed to be getting along.   
  


"Kato was much more than my valet. He was also a very good friend. And, before you ask, the circumstances around his leaving are none of your business," Britt said in a tight voice. "That's all in the past anyway, and irrelevant to what I want to talk to you about."   
  


Lowrey quickly dropped the subject, wisely figuring that it wasn't a good idea to press the boss about anything he was still so touchy about, but that didn't mean he wasn't still curious about it. The reporter in him made a mental note to ask the young man about it when the time was right.   
  


"Now if we can get down to the matter at hand," Britt said. "Lee believes his father was murdered and that the local authorities are covering it up. I've promised him that I would help. I want you to look into it. It may lead to a story, or it may not. That will all depends on what you find out."   
  


"You're not going to handle it yourself?" Lowrey asked since Reid often directly covered stories that he had a personal interest in.   
  


"No, not now. I don't think it would be a good idea for the head of the Daily Sentinel to seemed interested in the matter until we find out what's going on. That's why when you're asking around you're not to mention that you work for this paper." Britt shifted his attention. "Lee, I want you to tell us everything that happened and don't leave anything out. Even the tiniest detail might be important."   
  


Lee took a few moments to gather his thoughts then told his story. "After my parents were married, they moved to Wolverton. That's a little town north of here. My Mom found a nursing job at a local doctor's office and my father opened up a kwoon to teach Gung fu. It's a good place to grow up in, or at least it was until a few years ago. Then things started to change. Some guys started coming in from somewhere in the mountains. They'd hang around the local bar and get into fights when they got drunk. As long as they were just fighting each other, people could ignore them. Then they started hanging around the stores and bothering some of the local girls. One of the girls' boyfriend got into a fight with a bunch of them and wound up in the hospital.   
  


Things went from bad to worse. They started acting like they owned the town and people started moving out. Another bar was opened and down the street from it an old movie house started showing X-rated movies. It got so that you couldn't walk on main street at night anymore. That made even more people move out, but my father and I stayed on. One day some of those guys came to my father's place and demanded that he teach them Gung fu. He told them no and kicked them out. After that we started getting a lot of threatening phone calls and the front window of the kwoon was broken by a cement block thrown through it.   
  


We used to have some decent guys as deputies, but they couldn't do anything against these guys and a lot of them wound up quitting. They were replaced, but by guys who weren't any better then the people who were destroying our town. People came to my father for help and he did what he could. He got into a lot of fights, but things just kept on getting worse.   
  


There were rumors that these toughs were coming from some secret base in the mountains. Most of the land around Wolverton is federal land and people do a lot of hiking and hunting, at least until people started disappearing or having fatal accidents. It was said that there were guys dressed up like forest rangers who were patrolling the an area with vicious dogs and guns. I don't think that's normal for a forest ranger. We tried to get the state cops to look into things, or even the Feds, but nobody ever showed up to do anything about it.   
  


Then one month a ago one of the few decent deputies left was mauled to death while looking into an illegal dogfight. As usual the guys running the dogfight disappeared into the woodwork and there were no arrests. The deputy's wife came to my father for help. She gave him the name of one of the men her husband had thought had been involved. My father went alone to see the man at his cabin. He never came back alive. He was found dead at the bottom of a steep cliff. The Law claims he'd been drinking and had driven off the cliff by accident.   
  


I don't believe that. My father doesn't drink and he's far too good a driver to lose control. I know he was murdered, but no one will listen to me. To them I'm just some stupid kid who can't accept his father's death. That's why I came to you, Mr. Reid. I want my father's killers caught. I want justice." Overcome with pent up frustration and anger, Lee had risen to his feet as he finished.   
  


Britt eased him back into his seat. "Lee, I'm going to have to ask you some questions. They may be very difficult to answer, but I want you to answer them as fully and as calmly as you can. Can you do that?"   
  


Lee swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I lost my head. I'll try to answer all your questions."   
  


Satisfied with Lee's answer, Britt continued, "Was there any proof that he had been drinking?"   
  


"No! I said he didn't drink." Lee responded angrily.   
  


"I didn't ask if he drank. I'm asking was there any proof that he had been drinking when he went off that cliff," Britt said firmly, "The operative word here is 'proof'."   
  


"Oh. Well, the cops on the scene said that the inside of the car stank of booze. They must've been lying," Lee answered.   
  


"Not necessarily. I've heard of murders being passed off as accidents by pouring alcohol all over the victim and the inside of the car before. What were the results of the blood alcohol test? The Medical Examiner's office must have done one."   
  


"I was told that the results showed a very high blood alcohol level. That's got to be a lie." Lee answered.   
  


"Perhaps. That's something we can check up on. I have a few friends in the M.E.'s office who can give me some info on that. Was he cremated?" Lee nodded yes. Britt continued, "Too bad. I could've arranged for an independent examination of the body. What about the car? Anything left of it?" 

"No. It was crushed and sent off for scrap."   
  


Britt sighed and leaned back into his chair. Another dead end, he thought. "On whose orders?"   
  


"The Sheriff's. He said that it was taking up too much room in the department's parking lot and was a fire hazard."   
  


"Did you get a chance to get a good look at it before it was destroyed?"   
  


"Yes sir. I was able to sneak a look at it before it was hauled off to the junkyard. "The car was completely totaled. There wasn't much to see. I wouldn't be able to tell you if there was anything out of the ordinary or not."   
  


"I want you to think very carefully about what you saw and try to remember the slightest thing that might've seemed out of place," Britt instructed, "For instance, did you happen to notice if there were any streaks or flecks of paint that didn't match the car's color?"   
  


Lee thought carefully. "Yes, now that you mention it, I do think I remember seeing some paint along the roof line that didn't match the car's color. I think it was blue, maybe a metallic blue. Does that help?"   
  


"It could be a very important clue. It may indicate that your father was pushed off the road by another vehicle. Considering the height of the scrapes you describe, I would guess that it was some kind of truck, possibly a 4 X 4. Did you happen to have chance to check out the accident site?" Lee nodded yes. Britt continued his questioning, "Did you see any tracks around where he went off the road and were there any skid marks on the road itself?"   
  


"I didn't see any signs of tracks either around where the car landed or up on the road's shoulder where he went through the guardrail. Now that I think of it, there weren't even any skid marks on the road. It looks like he just drove right over the side of the road without even trying to stop." Lee answered thoughtfully.   
  


Britt mulled over the facts he had at hand, trying to recreate what might have happened. "Were there any side roads? Perhaps hidden from view from the main road?"   
  


"I think I remember seeing a steep road near where my father went off the road. It's actually more like a dirt path. It's very hard to spot if you're heading downhill. I've been up and down the main road a few times and that's the only reason why I remember seeing it all. I didn't think anything about it at the time."   
  


"One last question, from the angle that he left the road, would you say he was going uphill or downhill?"   
  


"He was going downhill, back toward town. I'm sure of that. I remember now seeing some pine needles stuck along the lower edge of the back window. They were from a kind of tree that grows higher up on the mountain. Could that be helpful, too?"   
  


"Possibly," Britt said, "Very good. You've given me an idea of what might have happened. This is how I see it. I think your father did see the man connected with the dogfighting. Then on his way back, he was ambushed from that side road by somebody in a metallic blue four wheel drive vehicle. They probably hit him so hard that he didn't have time to use his brakes. After the crash, they poured alcohol all over the car's interior to make it look like he had been drinking and later swept the area clear of tracks so that no one would be the wiser. A very neat set-up and with all the evidence destroyed, we can't prove a single thing."   
  


"Then you believe me? You agree that it was murder?" Lee said hopefully.   
  


"Yes, I do." Britt replied, "But I wish I had an idea of why he was killed. It isn't logical to kill someone just to hide illegal dogfighting. Something big is going on and people are being killed to hide it." Britt looked thoughtful for a moment, and then called his secretary, "Lee, why don't you go with Jennie here, for the grand tour of the Sentinel? I think you'll find it very interesting. Jennie, when you're finished, please bring Lee back to Ed's desk. They'll have a few things to discuss then."   
  


"Will I be going back to Wolverton with Mr. Lowrey?" Lee asked as Jennie escorted him out of the office.   
  


"No. Everyone probably thinks you've left for good. Let's keep it that way. For the time being I want these people, whoever they are, to think that their activities are still undetected."   
  


After Lee had left, Britt spoke to Lowrey, "Like I said before, I don't want any connections made to the Sentinel just yet. I want you to pretend you're from the Clarion. You can use your connections there to back up your story. Maybe you could say that you're investigating UFO's or something like that."   
  


"Uh, Mr. Reid, about the Clarion . . . " 

"I know all about it, You believed that story had to be printed, so when Dunigan rejected it, you took it to the Clarion and they printed it under a fake byline. We've argued before about the suitability of some of your stories for the Sentinel, but this time you overstepped your bounds. I don't like it when people go behind my back. I could've fired you for that," Britt said firmly.   
  


"But you didn't. Why?" Lowrey asked.   
  


"You're good, Lowrey, very good. I like your work. You have a lot of drive and tackle tough stories like a bulldog. In fact, you remind me of myself when I was younger, but I have certain standards for the Daily Sentinel. I won't change them for anyone. I demand that every story printed is completely supported by provable facts. I won't allow broad unprovable accusations or any kind of exploitive stories in my paper. The Clarion and others of its kind can do that if they want, but not the Sentinel. I sweated blood to build the Sentinel's reputation. I won't risk it for quick profits. Anyone who reads the Sentinel, knows that what they read is the truth. I plan to keep it that way."   
  


"I understand how you feel,"Lowrey said. "I should've accepted Dunigan's decision not to print my story, and I shouldn't have gone to the Clarion with it. I know saying this could get me canned, but damn it, sometimes you have to take chances or the paper will petrify from its own inertia."   
  


"The decision to take what chances and when is mine and mine alone," Britt answered. "You give me something that's worthwhile and I'll support you with everything I have, but you must work with me and not go behind my back. I won't tolerate any more insubordination from you. If you pull that kind of stunt again, I suggest you seriously consider whether you want to continue working for the Sentinel."   
  


"Okay, Mr. Reid, I get the message. I'm glad you're giving me another chance. You won't regret it," said Lowrey, painfully aware of how close he came to being fired. Reid had made it perfectly clear that he was the boss and Lowrey made a mental note not to forget that 

The sentinel was entirely Britt Reid's. He had no one, no board of directors, no stockholders, no one, to answer to, except his own conscience. Lowrey had to admire Britt Reid's personal style of managing the paper, but he could be a hard man to cross. Lowrey decided it would be a lot better to have Reid for him than against him.   
  
  
  


II   
  
  
  


Lowrey groaned in relief as he stretched his long legs from the cramped seat of the subcompact he had rented at the airport. The long ride through the heavily wooded countryside had been pleasant enough, but he could not understand why anybody would actually live so far from everything. He found little to recommend Wolverton. Its main street had only a few small stores, a simple church and the local sheriff's office. It was a typical drowsy little town sleeping peacefully in the warm late afternoon sunshine. He could not imagine how anything sinister could be going on.   
  


He had stopped in front of a primly neat white two story house that was trimmed in old-fashioned gingerbread along its eaves and porch. The neatly printed sign on its front porch said: Apple Bed and Breakfast Inn, Miss Emma Mae Apple Prop. Lee had recommended the place and it looked like fairly nice place. A tiny, bird-like woman, dressed in white lace and lavender opened the door and smiled sweetly.   
  


"May I help you, young man?"   
  


"Uh, yeah. My name's Ed Lowrey. I called earlier about a room," replied Lowrey.   
  


"Oh, yes. You're that nice man from the Clarion. I read that paper all the time, you know. I'm so glad that they finally sent someone after all my letters about the UFO's that have been flying in the mountains around here."   
  


"UFO's?" asked Lowrey, bewildered.   
  


"Why, yes, of course. They're the ones responsible for all of the disappearances and deaths that have been happening around here lately. Surely that's why you're here. Aren't you?"   
  


"Yeah, sure. Why don't you tell me all about it?"   
  


Pleased to find such a willing listener she began to talk about the mysterious deaths and disappearances that had been occurring. Lowrey had already heard about them from the boy, but he hoped to find a new angle if they were described by somebody else. The UFO story sounded like a dead end, but he listened patiently to the old lady's animated storytelling.   
  


"Have you seen them for yourself?" he asked when she paused for a breath.   
  


"Oh, yes, I most certainly have. You surely wouldn't tink I'd talk about such things without having seen them with my own eyes? I may be an old woman, but I'm no fool I didn't believe in them before, but I do now. I've seen them flying right over Wild Dog Ridge only a few miles away from here. I've tried to tell those forest rangers about it, but they just laugh at me. But I tell you, I've seen them and I know they are for real." She said positively.   
  


"Couldn't there be some other reasons for what's been going on around here? This looks like the kind of town where everybody knows each other. Haven't there been strangers around here since you started spotting those UFO's?"   
  


"Strangers? Well, let me see . . . There has been an awful lot of the wrong kind moving into town lately. They've been scaring a lot of the decent folk out of town. They even got into a few fights with that nice fellow with the martial arts school. Pity when he went off the road. I feel really sorry for his boy. He's all alone now, you know," she said, shaking her head sadly.   
  


"Yeah, that is too bad," Lowrey agreed, "Do you think it was an accident?"   
  


"Yes, I'm afraid I do," she said, "Now, people have been saying that he was drinking, but I don't believe that. He wasn't the drinking sort. I think it was just a simple accident. The road up there is terribly dangerous. Oddly enough though, it is higher up on that same ridge where I get the best view of those UFO's. I wonder if there is a connection with that," she said thoughtfully.   
  


"What about those strangers you mentioned earlier. Do you have any ideas where they might come from, or what they're doing around here?" Lowrey prodded, more interested in the strangers that in flying saucers.   
  


"Well, I think they're a bunch of loggers or something. Maybe they have something to do with those secret agricultural research stations people are saying that's scattered around in the national forest near here."   
  


"Secret agricultural research? Huh? I wonder if they could have something to with the strange lights you have been seeing. Maybe they aren't really aliens at all."   
  


"You know, young man, you could be right. I have never thought of that, then that wouldn't explain the disappearances. Would it?"   
  


"No. It wouldn't, but it does bear looking into. Have you seen anything or anyone else that seemed out of the ordinary?"   
  


"Now that I think about it, I saw a big car drive through town a few weeks ago. When they stopped at the stop sign at the corner there, I kind of peeked in. There was a very swarthy gentleman dressed in some kind of uniform with his whole chest covered in a lot of very fancy looking medals. He looked like he was some sort of Mexican general or something. I don't think he was Mexican, but he was definitely something like that," she paused, realizing that they had arrived at Lowrey's room, "My, my, I certainly have talked your ears off. Dinner will be served at five. Why don't you get some rest and we can talk a little more then?" she said, handing Lowrey his room key after unlocking his door.   
  


Lowrey shook his head after the woman had closed the door behind her. She had given him a lot to think about. He didn't believe in UFO's and he was sure they weren't the cause of what had been happening around there, but Reid and the boy were right. Something very odd was happening in the towering mountains that surrounded the little town.   
  


Supper was a leisurely affair with the long dining table filled to capacity with a greater variety that most all-you-can-eat buffets that Lowrey had seen, especially considering that he was the only guest. He ate until he was afraid to eat another bite. 

"My, my, Mr. Lowrey are you sure you won't have another piece of pie?" clucked the solicitous innkeeper. "You must be a bachelor. A good wife would have fattened you up a long time ago," she said referring to Lowrey's long, thin frame.   
  


Lowrey smiled broadly as he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "Madam, if you were only a few years younger, I would surely ask you to be my wife. I have never met a better cook. Or housekeeper, for that matter. I'll have to make sure I recommend your place to anyone who might plan to visit Wolverton."   
  


"Mr. Lowrey, you're too kind. But I love it anyway," she said with a girlish giggle, "It's a pity you aren't a bit older or I would consider you a prime candidate for marriage myself."   
  


"Tell me, Miss Apple, do you think tonight will be a good night for watching for Flying Saucers?" Lowrey asked, settling back into his chair.   
  


"Well, tonight is going to be very mild and clear and there will be a lovely full moon out too. They seem to favor such nights like this, especially this time of the year, when they seem to get very busy, like they have a lot to do before the snows come."   
  


"Sounds like this isn't been the first year they've been around," Lowrey commented.   
  


"No, it isn't. This is about the third year, but it seems like there's getting more and more of them each year," she said as she stood and began clearing the table.   
  


"Why don't you tell me where the best spots are for watching them while I help you with the dishes," Lowrey offered as he rose and picked up his plate.   
  


The high mountain air was clear and refreshingly cool, a relief from the steamy summer heat that had not yet released its hold from the southern part of the state. The light from the full moon was extremely brilliant and helped Lowrey negotiate the tight mountain switchbacks. The road was becoming progressively worse and he was having serious doubts about pushing his rented car further up the steep incline. Only for the sake of a story would he have dared the treacherous roadway at such an ungodly hour.   
  


He was almost ready to give up and turn back when he found the half-hidden turn off that Miss Apple had described to him. Carefully he coaxed his car along the narrow dirt road until it became impossible for him to go any further. Carrying a thermos of hot coffee, Lowrey forged ahead through the trees on foot until he found a cliff-side clearing that gave him an excellent view of the heavily forested mountains and the valleys that nestled at their feet. He sat against a rock still warm from the late afternoon sun, pulled out a paper bag full of treats that Miss Apple had packed for him and settled in for what he expected to be a long and fruitless wait.   
  


Lowrey bolted to wide-awake alertness when the soft animal noises of the late summer night suddenly stopped. He crouched behind the rock, furtively glancing around him, trying to figure out what had caused the sudden silencing of the forest. Seeing nothing, he sat back down against the rock and gazed at the black sky with a deep sigh. He was amazed at how brightly the stars shone in the clear night sky so far away from the polluted skies of the more heavily populated parts of the state.   
  


He was wondering whether to call it quits and head back for a more comfortable snooze in the soft bed waiting for him back in Wolverton, when he noticed that some of the stars were moving in a strange pattern. At first he thought they were from an airplane, heading into the airport several miles away but then he noticed that they weren't the lights from a single craft but from several. Perhaps, they were from some military aircraft, he thought, since they seemed to be flying in formation. Oddly though, they seemed to be moving in his direction, and Lowrey wondered momentarily whether the old woman was right. That what he was seeing were UFO's. He shook his head at his brief foolishness.   
  


Lowrey watched in rapt fascination as the lights steadily approached his position, and then they slowly split off one by one, with one of the mystery craft coming straight toward him. Lowrey felt first rather than heard the heavy beat of propeller blades against the thin mountain air. He immediately recognized the sound as that of a large helicopter. He barely had time to dive for cover as a brilliant light flooded his lookout for a brief moment before flashing back into darkness. Lowrey hoped that whoever was piloting the craft had not seen him or his car. As the helicopter disappeared in the distance, he tried to make a mental note of where the helicopters had headed. Tomorrow he would explore some of the roads that led into those mountains.   
  


The next day found Lowrey drawing blank after blank. Those few roads that he found leading up toward the areas he wanted to check out were constantly turning out to be impossible to travel by car. It would take a Daniel Boone to penetrate the secrets of these mountains, and he had no liking for such rugged outdoor activities. He decided to let the Boss handle that end if it became necessary.   
  


He finally gave up and headed back toward town. Halfway back down the mountain, a flash of color among the trees caught his attention. Deciding to check it out, he turned onto a dirt road that was so deeply rutted that his car's oil pan scrapped alarmingly on the high hump between the deep ruts. Soon he found he couldn't go any further. He hid his car close to some bushes and walked the rest of the way along the road. He noticed that the ruts held the impressions from deeply treaded tires that looked more like something belonging to a tractor instead of a car.   
  


He found parked alongside a run down shack a gigantic four wheel drive pick up truck. Lowrey slowly walked around the monster truck, tracing with his hand scrapes along its lower edge which came almost to the height of his chest. Although the truck was a bright metallic blue some of the paint left in the scratches were of an entirely different color. The same color, in fact, as the car that Lee had said belonged to his father. Lowrey had no doubt that this vehicle was involved in the murder of the boy's father.   
  


Behind the small shack were several dog runs. Lowrey suspected this was the place that belonged to the man Kato had gone to question on the day of his death. A horrible stench emanating from the cabin drew his attention. Cautiously, he climbed the rickety stairs and poked his head through the back door. He saw nothing, and crept further in, trying not to trip as he moved between the beer cans and cheap whiskey bottles that covered the shack's worn linoleum floor.   
  


The alarming sight of a decomposed body in the front room sent Lowrey reeling in horror as his stomach rebelled against the body's foul stink. After he had finished emptying his stomach over the railing of the back stairs, Lowrey forced himself back inside in order to examine the body and its surroundings, all the while reminding himself that it was his duty as a reporter to observe every detail, despite the horror and illness that was welling up inside him.   
  


The victim had been dead for a long time, There was little left of it for identification, especially since the head looked like it had been shattered by a shotgun blast at close range. There was no sign of a struggle, although considering the cabin's disarray, that was something difficult to be sure of and the victim had not been bound. Lowrey guessed that the killer had been let in or had sneaked into the place. He decided that he would have to let the local cops know about his grisly discovery, but only after he had called the Boss about it.   
  


Lowrey left the cabin and walked quickly to his waiting car. He had no intention of staying any longer than he had to, but it took him longer than he liked to pull his car from its hiding place. His mind was so busy with trying to figure out the connections between the mysterious helicopters and the dead man that he did not notice that the huge truck was no longer parked near the cabin.   
  


The roar of a powerful engine and the scrape of massive tires on loose gravel alerted Lowrey barely in time as the big truck charged out of hiding. He jerked his car out of the way just moments before the truck swept past his rear bumper. The big truck rocked wildly on its oversized wheels as its driver forced it back into Lowrey's lane. The big truck's engine growled angrily as it charged forward to shove against the bumper of Lowrey's car. The little car bounced helplessly and scrapped against the guardrail with a scream of protesting metal, but the railing held against the light weight of the small car which swerved back onto the road. Again the truck charged upon the car, missing it only by a few inches as it slid around a sharp curve. The truck swayed dangerously as it tried to pursue Lowrey through the curve. Repeatedly the big truck charged upon the rear of the little car only to be foiled as the greater maneuverability of the subcompact helped it gain precious distance through the treacherous hairpin curves.   
  


The little car remained glued to the road as Lowrey raced it down the steep S-curves of the highway. The big top-heavy truck was having trouble staying on all four wheels as its driver pushed the ungainly vehicle to greater speed. Lowrey saw in his side view mirror that the truck was rocking crazily high above its massive wheels as it came too fast around a sharp curve.   
  


Entirely out of control, the truck began to bounce from side to side of the road, first swerving into the mountainside and then scraping repeatedly against the guardrail. Finally it tore through the guardrails like they were made of tissue paper. For a moment the truck hung suspended in midair, its engine roaring thunderously as its huge wheels spun uselessly against nothingness. Then it dropped and bounced like a discarded toy against the steep mountainside until it landed in a furious explosion of flames.   
  


Knowing that it could very well have been him, instead Lowrey felt a surge of relief when he saw the fiery death of the truck far below him, but his relief was short-lived. He pressed the brake pedal down, but there was no response. Although the worst of the switchbacks were behind him, a steep downgrade still laid ahead.   
  


Desperately trying to remain calm, Lowrey removed his foot from the gas pedal and gradually pulled his emergency brake lever up in a effort to decrease his speed. He began to downshift, trying to use the braking action of the engine to further reduce his speed. His car was still going far too fast for his taste, but at least he was still in control. He spotted a runaway truck ramp and prayed that he would be able to make it. The ramp came up so quickly that for a few moments he feared that he would bypass it, but with a quick twist of the steering wheel he was able to get his car onto the ramp. With heart stopping slowness the car began to slow as its tires slipped on the gravel under them. When he finally stopped, Lowrey sat behind his steering wheel, waiting for his wildly pounding heart to resume a reasonable pace.   
  


Lowrey was footsore and exhausted when a deputy from the sheriff's office found him trudging his way back into town.   
  


"Hey, buddy, you need a lift into town?"he asked, slowing his car to stay alongside the reporter.   
  


"Sure," Lowrey said, "Some guy was trying to push me off the road and wound up going over himself instead. Then my brakes gave out. I thought I was going to join him, until I was able to make it to that runaway truck ramp," he explained as he climbed into the car.   
  


"You say somebody was trying to run you off the road?"   
  


"Yeah. You can still see the smoke from the fire where the guy hit the ground. He was using one of those huge monster trucks. It was metallic blue with tires as tall as I am. You know anybody who might own one like that?"   
  


"Can't say that I do," answered the deputy as he drove back into town, "But there have been a lot of new people in town lately. I'll take you in to the Sheriff and you can tell him the whole story."   
  


"Couldn't you just drop me off at the place where I'm staying? I got a lot of phone calls to make. You know, to a mechanic, to the rental agency, and to my insurance company," Lowrey said, not mentioning that he wanted to talk to Britt Reid before he spoke to the Sheriff.   
  


"I don't mind, but it sure would make the Sheriff mad if you didn't see him first," the deputy commented, but dropped Lowrey off as he asked.   
  


Lowrey groaned to himself when he saw Sheriff Tankowski. He looked like the stereotypical red neck lawman with a big beer belly hanging over a low slung gun belt, a florid jowly face and a stinking fat cigar hanging from thick lips. The Sheriff chewed on the smouldering cigar as Lowrey told him all that had happened in the past several hours. When the reporter had finished, he blew out a thick cloud of blue smoke. "What paper you say you're from, City Boy?" he demanded skeptically.   
  


"The Clarion, Sheriff," Lowrey answered.   
  


"That's one of them sleazy tabloids, ain't it? Always out for a story, even if it ain't true. Right?" he said, pulling himself from a too tight swivel chair.   
  


"No. That isn't true," Lowrey protested, "I don't make up stories. And I didn't make up this one either."   
  


"Well, why don't we just go up there and see what this is all about," the Sheriff said as he led Lowrey to a squad car and motioned for him to get into the passenger seat.   
  


Lowrey was shaken. He could not believe his eyes. His rental car was right where he had left it, but of the destroyed truck there was no sign it had ever existed. Even the railing that it had sailed through was now intact and on the roadbed there were no skid marks to be seen. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know the thoughts behind the Sheriff's watery blue eyes.   
  


"You sure the truck went through here?" he asked with a disgusted frown.   
  


"Of course I'm sure. I know it looks like I'm lying, but I'm not. I swear. Look down there," Lowrey pointed to the spot where the truck had crashed in flames, "See, some of the trees are burnt from the fire."   
  


"Could be from an old accident. People fly off this curve all the time," the Sheriff answered, not even bothering looking where Lowrey pointed. "I think it's time we check out that body you claimed to have seen."   
  


Lowrey was not surprised to find that there was no body in the cabin. It too, had been whisked away by the same unknown agent as had the truck. A powerful stench still filled the shabby cabin, but the carcass of a long dead animal provided the logical explanation for the horrible odor. The Sheriff glared at Lowrey with naked contempt.   
  


" Mind telling me why you took me out here on this wild goose chase?" he demanded.   
  


"Honest, Sheriff, I'm telling you the truth. There was a dead body here. Somebody, I don't know who, cleaned everything up. The truck, the body, everything. I don't know how it was done. You've got to believe me." the reporter pleaded desperately.   
  


"I don't care for reporters. I think they're just a bunch of busy bodies nosing into people's business. I especially don't like guys like you who work for those damn tabloids. You guys will print anything even if it's a pack of lies. You don't care who you hurt. I oughta throw you into jail for wasting my time. And I will if you don't get the hell out of town as soon as your car is fixed," the Sheriff growled, his face livid with barely suppressed rage.   
  


Lowrey shrugged, giving up on trying to convince the lawman. There was no hope in convincing this hick town sheriff. As far as he knew the guy could be in on the whole scheme. From here on he would let Reid take care of things.   
  
  
  


III   
  
  
  


High up on the same ridge where Ed Lowrey had watched the mysterious helicopters a few nights ago, Britt dismounted and pulled out a map from his saddlebags.   
  


"Lee, why don't you get down, grab a few sandwiches and stretch your legs a bit. I'm going to have to figure out where we're going to go next. Those last two places were complete busts," he said as he tried to compare the points that the reporter had shown on the map with the heavily forested land stretching out for miles away from their vantage point. He studied the scene with a pair of binoculars.   
  


"Unfortunately," he commented, "Lowrey was right. None of these places are accessible by car or even by a 4 X 4. I should've insisted on him coming with us. Even if he had to walk most of the way," he said, remembering how much Lowrey had protested about having saddle sores from the last time he had ridden horseback with his employer.   
  


Disgustedly, Britt stowed the map and the binoculars, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down beside the young man who was silently eating a ham sandwich that Casey had made the night before. Except for a few muttered answers whenever Britt had asked him a direct question, Lee had barely said a word during the entire trip. The silence was starting to bother Reid.   
  


"Have you heard a word I said?" he asked.   
  


"Yes. I heard you," Lee answered, only briefly looking up before going back to his sandwich.   
  


"Then say something. I feel like I'm talking to a damn wall."   
  


"I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?" 

Britt sighed tiredly. "Dammit, I don't know. I know you've got a lot on your mind, and we haven't exactly gotten along very well so far, but I had hoped that this might be a good chance to get to know you better. That's why I didn't insist on Lowrey coming with us. This past week I've been so damn busy at the Sentinel, that I've barely had a chance to eat or sleep. And you've been busy trying to fix the Black Beauty, an exercise in futility if I ever saw one, so we haven't had a lot of time to talk. I thought at least now we might get a chance to get to know each other better."   
  


Lee shrugged. "I don't really have much to say."   
  


"I think you do, young man," Britt said quietly, "I think you have a lot on your mind and it's all about your father's death. I'm not a social worker or a psychiatrist. I'm a newspaperman. But I'm also a father, and more importantly, I've been where you are. I know what it is to lose someone you love violently and unjustly. I found a constructive, if unconventional way to deal with my grief . . . " 

"A way you have closed to me," Lee interjected bitterly.   
  


"You're right. I have closed that avenue, and I don't want to rehash my reasons for doing so again," Britt said more harshly than he had meant to. He softened, placing a fatherly hand on the younger man's shoulder that stiffened at his touch, "I just want you to know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk," he offered, already sadly knowing that Lee was not yet ready to confide in him. He hoped that Casey would have better luck when they returned home.   
  


After he had finished his own brief meal, Britt walked to the edge of the overlook. Even though it was not yet Fall, some of the trees were starting to change color, and in the long, late afternoon shadows he could feel a chill in the thin mountain air through his heavy sheepskin coat.   
  


"It's going to be dark soon. There's one more place I want to check out tomorrow. We'll find a campsite about halfway there, and turn in for the night. We'll take a look at it in the morning. If it's a bust like the other ones, we'll head back home." He took one last look before mounting his horse. "It's hard to believe that there's something in these mountains that someone is willing to kill for."   
  


Lee had barely touched his plate of beans and biscuits that Britt had cooked over the campfire. He studied Britt in the flickering firelight. The man bore little resemblance to the well-dressed newspaper publisher of the Daily Sentinel. From beneath the battered, sweat- stained cowboy hat, his silver grey hair, allowed to grow shaggy, halfway covered his ears and scraped the collar of his sheepskin coat. The coat made his shoulders appear as wide as a fullback's and an untamed salt and pepper beard obscured the lines of his square jaw.   
  


"Do you think there's going to be some trouble?" he asked as Britt cleaned and loaded his rifle.   
  


"I hope not, but it's best to be prepared just in case. You never know what you might run into in an area as remote as this," Britt replied, "You seem to handle yourself pretty good on the trail. It looks like you've done some packing into these woods before."   
  


Lee nodded and stared thoughtfully into his coffee cup before replying, "Yeah, my father and I used to do a lot of hiking around here. Sometimes we'd borrow some horses from the stable where I had a job for the summer and ride deep into these mountains, far away from the more popular trails. I used to like to think we were the only ones to ever see some of the places we went to. It was like we were stepping back into time when people didn't even exist," he said wistfully.   
  


"You really miss your father. Don't you?" Britt said, understanding Lee's loneliness.   
  


"Yeah, I miss him a lot. It was just the two of us after my mom was killed by a drunk driver when I was real little. He was all the family I had, and now he's gone too." He rubbed in embarrassment at the annoying dampness at the corner of his eyes. "I guess I sound like a sissy."   
  


"No. You don't," Britt said gently, "It's okay to miss those you love. I still miss my own parents even after all these years. The pain gets less, but the ache, the feeling of emptiness will always be there. You can't let it destroy your life, though. You have to keep going. That's what they would've wanted you to do."   
  


"It always seems like bad things only happen to good people," Lee said. "Never to those who really deserve it. Why does it happen that way? It's not fair."   
  


Britt shook his head and sighed. "I wish I knew the answer. I don't. That's something philosophers and clergymen have argued about throughout history. That's the way life is. All you can do is the best that you can."   
  


Lee stared into the leaping flames of the fire. "Mr. Reid, your wife said that you were shot up very badly and that's why you stopped being the Green Hornet. Do you think it was worth it? I mean, you and my father did your best to fight crime and yet do you think you really accomplished anything? After all people are still being ripped off and killed. Things seem to be getting worse, not better. Why should anyone risk their life when it seems to be so useless. You know what I mean? Have you ever thought about that?"   
  


"I had a lot of time to think about it when I was in the hospital," Britt said, rubbing his left leg that was starting to ache from the long day's ride. "At first I thought the Green Hornet was the biggest mistake I had ever made. I had risked my life continuously and had denied myself a normal life, a wife, children. And for what? I never received any thanks for the risks I took. I would have been treated like a common criminal if I had been caught," Britt smiled wryly, "Or rather an uncommon one, but I would have most likely wound up in the electric chair or knifed in the back by any one of the many men we double-crossed and sent to prison.   
  


"But now, after all these years, I realize that what we did was worth every hardship or loss that Kato and I suffered. You se, we made a stand, and we did make a difference, however small it might seem now. We were able to put some very dangerous people out of circulation, and save some lives as well. We didn't just stand around and complain about how bad things were. We did something. We acted. Everyone should; maybe there wouldn't be so much crime and misery then. Criminals are like bullies, if you don't stand up to them, they'll keep on taking from you until there's nothing left of you. You must fight back. Everyone must. Each in their own way, or there will be total anarchy.   
  


"I'm no longer the Green Hornet. I'll never be the Hornet again. I'm not physically up to it. That's something we both must face up to. But that doesn't mean I don't care, that I don't do anything about the mess the world's in. I still fight crime and corruption through the Daily Sentinel. It's different from the Green Hornet, but it's still something worthwhile and effective in it's own way. It's not even less dangerous. Maybe it's more so. After all, my father was murdered because of his work through the Daily Sentinel, and I wouldn't be surprised it that becomes my fate as well."   
  


Lee reluctantly shook his head, not fully convinced. "Maybe you're right about people needing to do something themselves about crime, but what can I do? You're completely against reviving the Green Hornet, and that's the only way I can think of to do what I need to. I'm not rich like you. I don't have the pull in high places that you do. What can I do?"   
  


"There's a lot you can do, if you put your mind to it, instead of bugging me all the time about the Green Hornet." Britt tiredly threw the rest of his coffee into the fire. "It's getting late. Why don't you hit the sack?"   
  


"Aren't you going to get some rest too?" Lee asked.   
  


"No. I want to stay up for a while."   
  


"Why don't we share watches? You could get some sleep while I stay up. Then we could switch," Lee suggested helpfully.   
  


"That won't be necessary. I won't be able to sleep tonight, so it's better if you turn in for the whole night."   
  


"You still don't trust me, do you?" Lee asked angrily.   
  


"It's not a matter of trust. It's just that I don't have any idea of what you're capable of yet."   
  


When Lee began to protest, Britt raised his hand to silence him. "I know you're a fine martial artist. You've proven that already, but sparring in a gym is a lot different from taking on somebody who wants to kill you. I have no idea of how you'll handle yourself in an emergency."   
  


"But how can I ever prove myself if you don't give me a chance to show you what I can do?"   
  


"If there is actually some connection between your father's death and those helicopters that Lowrey spotted you'll have plenty of chances in the future to prove yourself. I'd just rather not push things too soon. Okay?"   
  


"Yeah, I guess so," Lee answered dejectedly, "It's just that I want you to know that you can rely on me."   
  


"I understand, but you can't go blindly into something, thinking that just because you know how to fight you'll come out on top. I think you're expecting too much of yourself and you're expecting too much of me. Dammit, I don't know what Kato told you about me, but that was a long time ago. I'm not the same man I was then."   
  


"Then you should be willing to let me take a watch, so you can get some rest," Lee argued.   
  


"That's just it. I'm too keyed up to get any sleep. You might as well turn in for the whole night and get some rest while you can. You can never tell when you'll be able to again."   
  


"Yeah, but . . . " Lee began.   
  


"Enough," Britt interrupted impatiently, "I'm more experienced in these things than you are. Just trust me in this. I know what I'm doing. Do exactly what I tell you. If you don't want to, we'll just consider this a pleasant camping trip and head home in the morning. What do you want to do?"   
  


Reluctantly, Lee nodded his agreement. "I'll do what you say. I guess that even though I lost my father, I've gained myself a teacher. I just hope someday that I'll be able to live up to your standards."   
  


Britt smiled, "I'm sure you will, young man."   
  


Lee rose and started toward their tent when he heard the sharp crack of a stick breaking somewhere in the cool darkness of the forest. He turned to Reid, but saw that he had heard it too. "Maybe it's just some wild animal prowling around," he ventured.   
  


Britt gestured sharply for silence, his sharp eyes probing the thick shadows that surrounded their tiny campsite. Close by the horses nervously stamped their feet. "Go check the horses," Britt ordered in a taut voice. As Lee passed by, he added in a low tone, "It might be nothing, but keep yourself hidden until I tell you."   
  


Lee nodded eagerly. "Yes sir," he whispered. Once he was far enough away from the small pool of light cast by the campfire, Lee looked back to see that Britt had returned to position by the fire, the rifle close by his side. After calming the horses, Lee moved silently to a spot where could keep an eye on the campsite without being spotted.   
  


A short, squat man who seemed to be almost as wide as he was tall, clumsily shoved his way through the underbrush and stepped into the firelight. In one hand he held on a leash a one-eyed, ragged-eared pit bull. It strained against the leash with a low growl rumbling in its throat. His other hand held a rifle trained steadily on Britt. The rifle in his oversized hands fitted him far better than did the dirty, ill-fitting uniform. "What're you doin' here, buddy?" he snarled.   
  


"What does it look like?" Britt answered testily. He cradled his own rifle in a casual embrace as he rose smoothly to his feet. "I'm camping. I filled out all the necessary papers and got the required permits back at the main headquarters in Wolverton. You have no right to bother me. Go away and take you damn mutt with you. It's spooking my horses."   
  


"I gotta bring you in. Yer in a restricted area," the ranger said, raising his rifle in implied threat.   
  


"What if I refuse to go with you?" Britt challenged.   
  


The ranger grinned nastily. "People have been known to vanish in these here mountains. You wouldn't want that to happen to ya? Would'ja?"   
  


Britt tensed and brought up his own rifle and pointed it at the ranger, "I don't think I want to go. How much are you willing to bet that you're a better shot that I am?"   
  


"I'm willin' to bet that Charlie here can make sure that I'm gonna win any shoot-out with you, old man," the growl in his voice matching his dog's deep-throated rumbling.   
  


"If you let the dog loose, it's not the one that'll catch my bullet," Britt warned harshly.   
  


As the two men angrily glared at each other across the campsite, a low voice came from the dark edge of the clearing, "And if he misses, I won't."   
  


The ranger scowled as he tried to keep an eye on Britt and still spot the voice's source. 

Its owner spoke again, "Don't move. Stay just as you are."   
  


Cornered, the confused ranger tried to talk his way out, "Hey guys, look, ya got me all wrong. I ain't gonna hurt you. I jest meant that there's been a lotta bad things happenin' round here. It ain't safe. That's why this place is restricted. I jest wanna getcha outta here, 'fore somethin' bad happens to ya. That's all," he said forcing a gap-toothed smile as he moved further into the center of the clearing.   
  


"Hold it right there," Britt warned, "Don't plan on making yourself comfortable. You aren't welcome here. I want you to leave immediately. But," Britt added, "Since you have said that this area is restricted and since we don't want to get into any kind of trouble, we'll leave in the morning after we've had some sleep," he said, lowering his gun.   
  


"Hey, that's great guys. I'm real glad that yer seein' things my way. How about I stay help ya pack up, so's you can get an early start in the mornin'," the ranger said with false friendliness.   
  


"No thanks," Britt said, distrust naked in his voice, "We can manage just fine by ourselves."   
  


The ranger grinned broadly and shrugged his shoulders. "Have it yer way then." He turned and walked back the way he had come. As he moved away, he tried to catch sight of the second man over his shoulder, but he couldn't see anyone.   
  


Britt waited a few minutes, then returned to his seat in front of the fire. A short while later Lee spoke from the camp's edge, "Can I come out now?"   
  


"Yes," Britt answered. "How far out did you tail him?" he asked as Lee approached the fire.   
  


"Only until I was sure that he wasn't going to turn back and jump us when we weren't watching." Then he stopped, open mouthed in surprise, "How did you know that I followed him?" he asked.   
  


Britt shrugged offhandedly and smiled. "I just figured you were smart enough to think of it."   
  


"Then you're not mad that I spoke up?" Lee asked.   
  


"I should be, but I'm not. Your timing was perfect and you kept out of sight. You did well." Britt was glad to see Lee smile at his compliment. Then rising to his feet, he said, "I think it's time for us to get moving."   
  


"Then we're not going to give up?" Lee asked.   
  


"Quite the contrary. In fact, we have a long night ahead of us. We'll stow everything and take the horses with us. We'll trail that so-called ranger to where he came from."   
  


"So-called? Then you don't think he's really a forest ranger?"   
  


"He's no more a forest ranger than I am. I don't know who he is, but I've seen his type before. He's nothing but a hired thug. Who knows? If we're lucky, we might find whoever murdered your father at the end of that man's trail. Or at least a clue as to why he was killed."   
  


"If you're right, he might backtrack and kill us when we aren't looking," Lee pointed out.   
  


"Usually I would agree, but I have a feeling that he's going to his base camp to get some extra muscle. People like him prefer to have his victims outnumbered."   
  


For several hours they followed the ranger's trail as it meandered through the night darkened forest. The man made no attempt to cover his tracks and they were easily seen in bright moonlight. Although Britt's buckskin plodded along calmly, Lee's piebald mustang repeatedly shied at the slightest sound that echoed around them. Britt pulled them to the side of the trail, "We're going to have to leave the horses behind. Sooner or later that pony of yours is going to give us away."   
  


"I guess you're right, but maybe you should stay on your horse while I walk beside you," Lee offered.   
  


"No. That won't work. I'd have to go too slow for you to keep up with me. Don't worry about me. I'll do just fine," he reassured the younger man, "Besides, it would be better for us to go on foot anyway. We can move a lot more quietly and not have to worry about controlling the horses."   
  


After making sure that the horses were safely hobbled in a small meadow that was still lush with late summer grasses, they continued to follow the ranger on through the forest at a rapid ground-covering pace. "Uh, Mr. Reid, you mind if we take a break?" Lee asked, trying to catch his breath.   
  


Britt impatiently looked back at the younger man as he leaned on a walking staff that he had made when they had left the horses behind. "Is it really necessary?" he demanded. "I don't want him to get too far ahead of us."   
  


"Yeah, I gotta take a leak. Okay?" Lee answered, not wanting to mention that he had noticed that the older man was staring to limp and thought that he needed a break.   
  


"Okay. Take a break," Britt said, "But don't take too long. And be careful. I don't know how much further we have to go or whether they might have some guards nearby," he cautioned.   
  


Lee's reply was drowned out as a large helicopter thundered its way over them. Britt grabbed up the heavy staff that Lee had cut for him and struck out directly toward where the huge craft was headed. Lee shook his head in amazement at Britt's determined stride and charged after him, fearing that he would lose him in the darkness.   
  


They found the helicopter settled in a large clearing, and saw several forklifts loading heavy bales into the squat craft. "How are they getting that stuff through that clearing without tearing up the grass?" Lee whispered into Britt's ear, "The ground should be too soft to bear that kind of weight. And how can they see where they're going?"   
  


Britt shrugged as he studied the well-organized loading. "There," he finally said, pointing to the tiny points of light that seemed like fireflies among the long grass. "They're using those lights to guide them. It looks like they're formed in some kind of grid pattern. Let's go. I want to take a better look," Britt said, moving from the shelter of the forest's edge.   
  


"But . . . " Lee began, but gave up and followed Britt into the open. Lee followed Britt as he walked purposely along, taking advantage of the heavy traffic that swirled around on their various errands, too busy to notice that strangers were in their midst. Beneath his feet he noticed that the lights were indeed organized along a metal grid that stood about a foot above the ground, providing a sturdy surface for the heavy equipment, and as a landing pad for the helicopter. The grass growing up through the grid provided and excellent camouflage. As they passed the helicopter Lee and Britt heard its crew talking to one of the workers.   
  


"Hey, buddy, this is our last run. Is there a chance we can get some grub in the mess hall?"   
  


"Yeah, sure, just follow me," the worker said, checking the clipboard in his hands, "Loading's gonna take a little longer, so you guys might as well get some chow before you have to leave."   
  


Britt and Lee slowed their walk just enough to allow the helicopter crew and the worker to pass them, and then fell into a step behind them. They entered a well-hidden compound of prefabricated buildings that were scattered beneath huge pines that sheltered them from any aerial observation. More of the tiny firefly lights indicated pathways between the buildings and over the door each building was a shielded light fixture that illuminated the doorway, the steps to it, and little else.   
  


As the helicopter crew entered a building from which came the tantalizing odor of cooking food, Britt pulled Lee alongside the building. "That must be the mess hall. It should be a good place to find out what they're doing here," he whispered, leading Lee around the boxes and crates that were piled around the building.   
  


For a long time they listened to scattered snatches of conversation that seemed to revolve mostly around women, food and booze. Dissatisfied with what he had so far overheard, Britt slowly rose from his position to peek through the window above them. "So," he breathed. Inside he saw a tall, painfully thin man, with thinning red hair vainly combed over a rapidly receding hairline, seated at the head of a long table. Beside him was seated a darkly handsome man in the uniform of a South American country. Upon the swarthy man's chest multi-hued medals glittered in the light. While not a Mexican general, he could have been mistaken for one by the uninitiated.   
  


Noticing an open window behind the redhead and the South American, Britt gently tapped Lee on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. They moved silently, dodging stacks of boxes and barrels that had been placed next to the side of the building. Once beneath the window they were able to easily overhear the men's voices through the half-open window in the stillness of the windless night.   
  


Britt watched with interest as the ranger who had invaded their campsite made his report to the two seated men. "Mr. Miles, General de Garza, there was something' really oddly about the old guy. It was like he wasn't afraid at all. It's kinda scary, I feel like I've seen him before. Did'ja ever hear that I met up with the Green Hornet once? Well, this guy kinda reminded me of him. This guy acted the same way. Like he was afraid of nothin'. And he had those same kind of light eyes, like he could see right into my soul."   
  


The redhead's green eyes narrowed behind thick-lensed glasses. "If I remember correctly, the Green Hornet was killed a long time ago," he said.   
  


"Yeah, well, nobody ever saw the Hornet's body. There ain't no proof that he's really dead. 'Sides a while after the Hornet disappeared, a bunch of old man Jackson's goons got knocked off. An' on each one'a them was left the Hornet's mark. An' Jackson, himself had a stroke that left 'im a vegetable. Word was that he was scared stiff by the Hornet's ghost."   
  


"Martinez, if you don't start controlling your imagination, you'll start seeing ghosts yourself," warned his leader. "Leave us," he said with an imperious wave of his hand.   
  


"I still think your man should have returned to kill those two," said the military man in heavily accented English after Martinez had left them.   
  


"Nah, if he didn't kill them when he first saw them, it's best to leave them alone. For now at least. Besides, both of them were armed. It might have been some kind of police plant," said the balding redhead.   
  


"Your man only saw that one of them was armed. The other one stayed hidden. He could have been bluffing. Your man should have returned and waited until they had gone to sleep. Then they could have both been easily eliminated," asserted the South American.   
  


"Hmph, I think there has been entirely too much killing already. People are starting to ask too many questions. They are beginning to doubt what we have been telling them. Letting those two survive will not affect our operation," the other man insisted.   
  


"You are getting careless, Miles. One slip, just one, and our entire operation will be jeopardized. Those two must be found and eliminated before they see something they shouldn't," the South American warned.   
  


"Come on," Britt whispered into Lee's ear, "I've heard enough. The compound is almost empty, now that they've finished loading the helicopter. It's a good time to get a close look at the other buildings."   
  


Lee nodded and followed Britt as they ghosted across along the buildings, always taking care to remain in the shadows. One of the buildings, a baling and storage shack was still half full of the bales that they had seen loaded into the helicopter. Britt dug into one of them, crumpled some of the dried material between his fingers and sniffed it. "Marijuana," he said, "They're probably growing this stuff all over these mountains, and then shipping it out by 'copter after it's been harvested and dried. It looks like they have only a few more trips ahead of them before they're completely finished."   
  


"So it looks like they're going to be done in a short while then," Lee commented.   
  


"Yeah," Britt agreed. "We don't have much time. We'll have to make the most of what little time we have left to get as much proof as we can."   
  


"It sounded back there like you know the guy who's running this set up."   
  


"I do. He's Matthew Miles, but I doubt that he's running this operation. He's nothing but an unimaginative lackey, who only got his job in the federal government because his brother-in-law is Senator de la Culebra."   
  


"The Presidential candidate?"   
  


Britt nodded.   
  


"Do you think he might be the real brains of this outfit?" Lee asked.   
  


"That's a very distinct possibility, but I'm going to have to get a lot more proof before I can even start making any accusations. Otherwise I could lose everything I have including the Daily Sentinel in a lawsuit and have nothing to show for it."   
  


They continued their search and found in another building agricultural chemicals and fertilizers. Britt removed the label from an empty canister and made a mental note of the brand name and quantity of each item. "There has to be a record somewhere of who purchased this stuff in the large amounts necessary for an operation this size," he said to Lee, "I think I remember reading something about De L Culebra running a chain of nonprofit plant nurseries as part of a rehab program for ex-cons, when we get back I'll have Casey look further into it, and find out who supplies their chemicals."   
  


"There's not enough cover near that helicopter, but I'm going to take the chance while there's nobody around to get a good look at it. Lee, I want you to stay here out of sight." When Lee started to protest, he firmly added, "Remember, you agreed to follow my orders."   
  


"Yes. I remember," Lee said unhappily. He had serious misgivings about Britt going alone, especially since he was limping worse than before and he didn't want to be left out of any possible action.   
  


Once the bulk of the helicopter blocked Lee's view, Britt took a few precious moments to try to knead out the painful cramp that had developed in his left leg. He was starting to have serious doubts about his whole outing. True, they had uncovered something of vast importance, but he was getting too damn old to be slinking around in the middle of the night. Should have sent Lowrey, despite his protests, with the boy instead of going himself, he scolded himself.   
  


Britt forced his mind away from the pain in his leg and concentrated on the business at hand. His examination of the fully loaded helicopter would have to be as thorough as the limited time he had would allow. He recognized it as a UH-1, or Huey, the kind of helicopter that had seen heavy service during the Vietnam war. After the war, many of them had been sold to foreign countries or pressed into civilian service. Its serial number would have been useful in tracing its owner, but that would have required a closer examination that he was willing to risk, but he did note that it was armed with an M-60 machine gun. The thing was not merely for transporting freight, but could be deadly dangerous as well.   
  


He studied the helicopter for a few minutes more and then on a sudden impulse, reached into an inner pocket in his coat. He drew out a heavy gold pocket watch. It was an old family heirloom that had been handed down from father to son for several generations. Britt hoped that someday he would be able to give it to his own son. A long time ago, he had removed its badly damaged original workings and had replaced them with much smaller modern ones. In the space left he had added miniaturized electronics, so that the watch had once served as a signaling device and radio during his days as the Green Hornet.   
  


He gently lifted the back of the watch to expose a hidden compartment, slipped out an oval piece of sticky-backed paper and pressed it to the helicopter's door. The paper bore a green hornet, its wings outstretched, and its stinger boldly poised downward to strike at its enemies. Why he did this, Britt couldn't say, perhaps it was out of a subconscious wish for the Green Hornet not to be forgotten. Or perhaps it was a way to confound and confuse the enemy. Which, Britt didn't know himself.   
  


Suddenly a bright light lanced out from nowhere and pinned Britt to the helicopter's side. Quickly he moved to hide the seal he had just placed there.   
  


"Okay, buddy, take off the rifle and put up your hands," a gruff voice demanded as the man raised the light to shine directly in Britt's eyes. "Hey! Whatcha doin' here? You shoulda left when you had the chance. Yer gonna be in a lotta trouble. Drop the stick too!" Martinez demanded noticing that Britt had dropped his rifle but had kept his hold on the walking stick.   
  


Britt shielded his eyes, trying to see the man if front of him. "I need it. I got a bad leg and I can't walk without it," he protested.   
  
  
  


"Ain't that just too damn bad. Drop it or I'll blow yer head off!"   
  


His mind working furiously, Britt quickly did as he was told. He would have to make a break for it; he could not allow himself to be brought before the ringleaders. Although his currently shaggy appearance would prevent his immediate identification, his anonymity would not remain once the seal he had left was discovered. It would be tragically ironic if the connection between the Green Hornet and Britt Reid would be made after all these years of retirement.   
  


"Move," demanded Britt's captor with a wave of his gun. Britt led the way toward the mess hall as ordered, exaggerating his limp. "C'mon, buddy, step it up. We ain't got all night," Martinez ordered.   
  


Without warning Britt stumbled and grabbed his left leg as he fell to the ground. Carefully keeping his distance, the gunman growled, "Get up!"   
  


"I can't," Britt groaned, clutching his leg, "My leg's given out. I can't stand up. Give me the staff so I can get up."   
  


"Hell," grumbled the gunman, kicking the stick toward Britt.   
  


Panting with effort and pain, Britt grabbed the stick and lifted himself up to one knee. "Give me a hand, please," he begged. The disgusted gunman swore as he approached Britt. Then Britt abruptly swung the thick staff low over the ground and caught the gunman behind his shins, knocking him down to the ground. Britt threw himself over the man, pinning him to the ground wrestling for the gun still in his hand. Martinez drew up his knee and shoved it into Britt's stomach.   
  


As Britt rolled in agony, the gunman rose to his fee and aimed his gun at Britt's head. "Get up! Now! Or you won't get up again. Ever!" he threatened, Suddenly Martinez grasped his arm in surprised pain, dropping the gun. Britt launched himself at the man's knees, knocking him to the ground and quickly dispatched him with a single well-placed blow.   
  


"Are you okay?" asked Lee as he separated himself from the shadow and trotted to Britt's side.   
  


"I'm fine," Britt said, "I'm lucky he felt cocky enough about taking on an old man that he didn't bother raising an alarm."   
  


"I was afraid you weren't faking it."   
  


Britt took a deep breath. "I wasn't faking. At least not entirely," he said through clenched teeth, "Can you give me a hand up?" he asked. Lee quickly helped him up, deeply concerned about Britt's condition. It had to be more serious than it appeared for the older man to make such a candid admission of weakness.   
  


Looking at the unconscious Martinez, Britt spotted something familiar imbedded in the man's arm. He bent down and pulled it free. He twirled between his thumb and fingers a slender throwing dart. It was slightly similar in shape to those used in dart games, but instead of fletching at the end opposite from the point, it had a pair of collapsible wings slightly above the point. Its body was striped in shades of light and dark green with the wings a darker hue of green. Britt had seen such darts many times in Kato's hands.   
  


Lee responded to Britt's raised eyebrow. "When I was cleaning out the Black Beauty, I found a few of these stashed away. I thought they might come in handy," he explained.   
  


"And lucky?" Britt asked.   
  


"Yeah, and kind of a reminder too. I guess," Lee said, reaching for the dart, but Britt drew it out of his reach.   
  


"No. Leave it here. It'll give them something to think about," Britt said, deliberately neglecting to mention the seal that he had left behind on the helicopter.   
  


"A reminder?" Lee asked, trying to follow Britt's line of reasoning.   
  


"Perhaps. Or a warning," Britt replied grimly as he dropped the dart beside the fallen gunman. "We better get out of here before someone else spots us," he said as he moved back toward the forest.   
  


Lee followed a few paces behind Britt as they walked along the narrow trail. Even with the staff that they had retrieved, Britt's normally long strides had deteriorated into a serious limp that slowed their pace dangerously. Cautiously Lee broke the silence that hung over them like a heavy cloud, "Uh, Mr. Reid, why don't I go on ahead and get the horses and our gear?"   
  


Britt stopped and looked ahead to the trail before them. His pride rebelled at the thought of allowing to younger man to go ahead. He was also worried about allowing him to go into a situation that might be too dangerous to handle alone. Yet, common sense and long experience had taught him that pride could be very costly. With his bad leg hurting so badly, he was a serious liability on foot. Tight lipped, he nodded his agreement.   
  


"Sounds like a good idea." He pointed to some large rocks half hidden by trees and underbrush. "I'll rest there, out of sight, until you get back. And Lee..."   
  


"Sir?"   
  


"For God's sake, be careful. We've been lucky so far, don't push it." he warned firmly.   
  


Britt watched Lee until he was swallowed by the dark forest. Then he sighed, making a silent prayer that the young man wouldn't get lost. He consoled himself with the thought that after a short rest, he'd be able to make the rest of the way back to the truck just fine.   
  


Much later, Britt impatiently checked his watch for what seemed to be the hundredth time. He was growing restless as concern about Lee began to eat at him. Hearing the crashing of underbrush, Britt moved into hiding. He knew that Lee would not make so much noise. Britt saw a sullen Lee walking behind a man in a ranger's uniform who was leading their horses. Although a different man from the one that had invaded their campsite, he was made from the same mold.   
  


Britt gave a short, sharp whistle and his buckskin reared up on its rear legs, throwing the stranger to the ground. Taking advantage of the confusion, Britt leaped onto his horse's back. Lee followed Britt's example and jumped onto the mustang's back. Screaming in fear at the sudden weight the pinto wheeled on its back legs, pulling the reins out of Lee's reach before he could grasp them. It tore off in a blind panic into the forest with Lee desperately clinging to its back.   
  


Britt kneed his buckskin forward after the frightened horse. He clung tightly to his own horse, keeping his head down low, avoiding low hanging branches that threatened to knock his head off. Desperately he strained to keep the mustang in view as it charged headlong through the moon-dappled forest. With agonizing slowness, Britt gained on the horse ahead of him.   
  


The mustang was starting to tire as it climbed up a steep embankment along a stream. Britt urged his horse forward after it. Finally alongside the mustang he could see Lee hanging on with white knuckled desperation. Britt stretched forward, half out of his saddle, straining to reach the pinto's bridle. His fingers barely brushed it when his horse stumbled under him as the earth beneath its feet crumbled. Britt tightly gripped the saddle horn as his horse trying to stay on its feet twisted and slipped down the steep slope. But the saddle horn twisted free from his grasp and he tumbled helplessly from his horse's back and slid downward to land in the soft sand at the base of a shallow ravine.   
  


He painfully rolled to his side and watched the buckskin hefting itself back up onto wobbly legs. "Come here Dusty. Come here old boy," he said softly. He watched with concern as the horse limped to his side. "Steady boy, steady," he said soothingly as he grabbed onto the stirrups and pulled himself to his feet. Britt took a deep breath and flexed his arms and shoulders. Outside of a few bumps and bruises there were no serious pains, outside, as usual his rotten leg. Worried about the buckskin's limp, he began to very carefully examine its leg. Finding a stone lodged in its foot, he dug it out with a knife and continued to gently examine its other legs. With a sigh of relief, he walked the weary horse around a few times and could spot no other signs of injury. If the horse was not able to carry his weight, he would have had no chance of finding the boy.   
  


After several hours of skillful tracking at a slow walk, Britt found both boy 

and pony in a small meadow. After the wild violence of the frightening ride through the woods the scene before him was amazingly serene. The pony was heavily lathered but seemed unhurt as it nibbled on the long late summer grass. Lee was resting his head on his forearms and seemed to be unhurt as well.   
  


"A good horseman always gives his horse a thorough rubdown after it has had a hard run," Britt remarked.   
  


Lee jumped to his feet. "Mr. Reid! I'm sorry about everything, but that guy was waiting for me when I got to the horses. He had a gun on me and there was nothing I could do."   
  


Britt dismounted with considerable effort and began rummaging through his saddlebags until he found some soft rags. After throwing a few of them to Lee, he began to unsaddle his horse. Almost absently, he asked, "Do you think he was part of a search party?"   
  


Lee looked at Britt and then at the cloths in his hand. With a shrug, he followed suit. "No. I think he was just some outer guard who just happened to spot the horses and decided to wait for somebody to come back for them. I'm really sorry I messed up." He was having a hard time with Britt's strangely cavalier attitude about what had happened. "You know, I thought you were going to be really mad at me. You were counting on me and I failed. It feels like I'm always messing things up."   
  


Britt stopped what he was doing for a moment. "I see no point in getting angry at you. You feel bad enough about it as it is. You realized you've made a mistake and I'm sure you'll remember not to repeat it. We all make mistakes," he said charitably, "The idea is not to make too many of them and to learn from those we do make." He folded his cloths and scratched his horse between its ears. "We're on borrowed time. We have to get out of here and get as much distance behind us as we can. Are you up to it?" he asked.   
  


"I'm fine, but what about you?" Lee asked. "We've been on the trail for almost two days now, without any kind of rest. How much longer do you think you'll be able to last?"   
  


Britt took a deep breath and wearily shook his head, and for a moment Lee could plainly read the exhaustion in the older man's face. "Okay, I admit that I'm pretty beat and that my leg is killing me. I could use a good night's sleep right now, but at the moment that's not possible. But, you don't have to worry about this old man. I'll hold up just fine," he assured Lee. Hi lifted his saddle onto his horse and tightened the cinch belt. "Are you ready to go?"   
  


"Yeah. I guess I'm ready if you are," Lee said.   
  


"It's a good thing the sun's starting to come up now," Britt said, noticing that the night sky was starting to fade into the pale rose of dawn. "It'll make it a lot easier for us to find our way back to the truck."   
  


"Do you think they'll have discovered the guards we knocked out by now?" Lee asked.   
  


"You can count on that," Britt answered. "We'll have to move as fast as we can while trying to cover our tracks. Since you've been in these mountains before, you take the lead," Britt said as he drew out his rifle and checked it.   
  


"You're not worried about pursuit by horseback, are you?" Lee asked.   
  


"No, I'm not. We're far enough away that I don't think that will be any real threat, but that doesn't mean we can forget about it either."   
  


"Could the helicopter be a problem?"   
  


"Yes, it could. It was armed with machine guns and since it's almost daylight, we'll be visible from the air. Unless we can keep under cover, we won't have a chance in hell of getting away from it."   
  


Britt's words kept on echoing in Lee's mind as he led them down out of the mountains. Britt suddenly charged up to his side, shouting, "Move. Get under the trees before they see us!"   
  


Above the thundering hoof-beats of their horses Lee could hear the heavy whomp-whomp of helicopter blades above his head. They galloped wildly through the forest, weaving through the tall pines and oaks, trying to keep the trees between themselves and the chopper that hounded at their heels. Lee gritted his teeth in fear as he heard the metallic clatter of the helicopter's machine gun as it ripped through the leaves over them. At any moment he expected his body to be shredded by the bullets that bit at the ground behind them. He tried to keep his eyes on Britt's broad back, hoping that the older man somehow had an idea of how they were going to escape the terrifying harpy that flew after them.   
  


"Shit man, keep after them!"shouted the door gunner to the helicopter pilot, "I can't get a good shot at them!"   
  


"I can't get any lower! Not unless you wanna wind up eatin' bark!" the pilot shouted back as he tried to follow the fleeing riders. "I'm havin' a hard time followin' them. Half the time I can't even see them through those damn trees!"   
  


"Shit! There they are! C'mon man, get after them! They're gettin' away!" the gunner screamed in frustration. He suddenly grabbed for a handhold as the helicopter swung after the two horsemen. "Shit! Watch whatcher doin' asshole! I almost fell out on that last damn turn!"   
  


"Damn, this ain't workin'! They're too damn maneuverable!" shouted back the pilot as he pulled the helicopter up. "There's gotta be a better way!"   
  


The door gunner slammed his hand on his machine gun in impotent rage. He scanned the woods that stretched beneath tem. "There!" he said, pointing ahead of tem toward a broad riverbed that had cut a broad swath between the forest and some steep cliffs, forming a narrow canyon, "We can get them there along the river. That's the only way they can head."   
  


"No way, man!" the pilot objected heatedly, "It's too damn narrow there. I can't fly through that. One false move and we're dead meat. No way."   
  


"It's the only way, man. Hell, they won't even see it until it's too damn late and then we'll have them. They'll have to go one way or the other through the canyon and there's no cover. It'll be like shootin' fish in a barrel."   
  


"You're crazy! You've been smokin' too much of the boss' merchandise," declared the pilot.   
  


"Hey man. I thought you said you were the best pilot in 'Nam. Was all that big talk just bullshit? Yer yella," the door gunner spat disdainfully. "Look," he said, spotting a flash of color heading toward the narrow canyon, "They're headin' right for it. They won't know it's a trap until it's too late."   
  


"Hell," cursed the pilot as he flew the helicopter toward the river. "You got rocks in yer head an' so do I."   
  


"Where'd the other bastard go?" exclaimed the pilot, seeing only one rider bursting out of the woods and onto the rocky riverbed.   
  


"It doesn't matter. Forget him. We'll get this guy on the buckskin first. Then we'll worry about the other guy," the door gunner growled as he aimed for the buckskin's rider. "C'mon! After him before he gets away! Closer!" he urged. He was hungry for blood, but he held off firing. He wanted to get close enough to see the rider's face when his bullets ripped through the man's body.   
  


The pilot kept his eyes glued to the fleeing rider, his eyes bright with the bloodlust that raced through his veins. Suddenly he screamed, "Shit!" as he looked up to see the overwhelming bulk of a mountain ahead of them. His hands and feet flew as he tried to force the fragile craft up away from the massive wall that reared up in front of them. Achingly the helicopter's forward movement slowed as it began to lift upward. Suddenly a strong gust of wind out of nowhere snatched at it like a mighty hand, slamming it into the hillside like an insignificant insect.   
  


Britt reined in and watched the flaming wreckage of the helicopter scatter but a few yards away from him. He took a deep breath of relief. _That was close_, he thought, _too damn close_.   
  


"Are you okay, Mr. Reid?" Lee asked as he reined in beside Britt.   
  


"I'm fine," Britt answered.   
  


"Are you sure?" Lee asked as he reached over to examine a large tear in the shoulder of Britt's coat.   
  


Britt took off the coat and checked his left shoulder where a bullet had ripped through the coat and the shirt beneath it. "See, not even a scratch," he said, showing the unbroken skin through the tear in his shirt with a crooked grin.   
  


Lee shook his head in amazement. "I don't get you. Here I was half scared out of my mind and you almost seemed to be enjoying yourself."   
  


Britt shrugged and looked back at the helicopter's shattered remains. He smiled grimly. "Sometimes, I even surprise myself," he said quietly.   
  


As they continued their trip back to the truck, the constant threat of further pursuit weighed on their minds, each man half-expecting a hail of bullets to end their journey. They continued to take great pains to cover their tracks, but they moved more quickly and took a more direct route. The late afternoon shadows were getting long. They would have to get to the pickup and horse trailer before night fell. Lee could hardly believe that they had finally made it when he spotted the truck and trailer. Britt moved his horse in front of the relieved Lee before he could ride out into the open.   
  


"We might not be out of danger yet. Keep an eye out for any signs of intruders. Even though things look safe enough, someone could be laying in wait for us," he warned.   
  


Lee bit his lip in chagrin. "Yes, sir. I understand."   
  


They dismounted and moved cautiously near the parked truck. In the rapidly failing sunlight it was difficult to see if an ambush had been laid for them. Lee could feel his back ache between his shoulder blades from the constant fear and tension. Finally he could see Britt relax. He breathed out in relief, unaware that he had been holding his breath the entire time.   
  


"So far, so good," Britt said. "But we won't be entirely safe until we're back onto the freeway and well on our way home."   
  


They quickly loaded their drooping mounts into the trailer and stowed their retrieved camping gear into the camper. "Why don't you let me drive for a while, Mr. Reid," Lee offered.   
  


"No. I'll drive first. You get in the camper and get some sleep. After we hit the freeway, I'll wake you and then you can take over the driving while I get some rest. Okay?"   
  


For a moment Lee thought about protesting, but he was too tired. "Okay, but wake me up as soon as we hit the freeway," he said as he crawled thankfully into one of the bunks in the back of the camper.   
  


Lee had intended to rest just a few minutes, but when he finally woke up he saw that they were well out of the mountains and were now on the interstate. He shoved his head through the window between the camper and the cab of the pickup. "I thought you said you were going to wake me when we hit the freeway so that I could take over driving," he demanded.   
  


When Britt didn't answer, he reached through to touch Britt's shoulder. "Uh, Mr. Reid?" he said more loudly. "Are you awake?" he asked.   
  


"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm awake. I was just busy thinking. That's all," Britt finally responded. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm okay. How about you?"   
  


"Fine. Why didn't you wake me up?"   
  


"I tried, but you were out cold. I figured I'd let you sleep until you woke up on your own," explained Britt.   
  


"Thanks," Lee said sardonically as he squeezed himself into the cab. "Why don't you stop at that Rest Stop up ahead and we can switch over there?" he suggested.   
  


"No. I'll keep on driving. I don't feel sleepy. You can sit there and keep me company," Britt said.   
  


"Even if you can't sleep, you could at least get some rest. We're going to be caught in the morning rush hour soon and I feel fresh enough to handle it," Lee insisted.   
  


"Don't think I could handle it?" Britt challenged.   
  


"You want my honest opinion?"   
  


Britt sighed tiredly. He had a good idea of what Lee's honest opinion would be. "Even if I don't want it. I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway."   
  


"Okay. I think you're dead on your feet, and you're too tired to handle the traffic. I'd feel a lot safer if I did the driving," urged Lee, waiting for an angry outburst, but Britt surprised him by giving in without another word and pulled into the Rest Stop as he had suggested.   
  


For several miles Lee drove in silence, hoping that Britt would doze off despite himself, but when he saw that Britt was still awake he decided to ask a few questions that had been bothering him. "Uh, Mr. Reid, I've been thinking . . . "   
  


"That's dangerous," Britt said wryly.   
  


"Huh?"   
  


"Thinking. That can lead to all sorts of trouble," Britt said with a crooked smile.   
  


"Oh," Lee said lamely, momentarily thrown off balance by Britt's unexpected humor. "Well, anyway. I was thinking about those guys killing my father. It didn't mean anything to them, did it? He was in the way so they decided to get rid of him with no more thought than swatting a fly. Right?"   
  


"I'm afraid so. That 's the way it usually is. The victims mean nothing to them. They're just obstacles that have to be eliminated. I can't count the times I've heard a gunman excuse himself by saying it's nothing personal, as though the victim should understand and not resent being murdered in cold blood."   
  


"In the way . . . " Lee said thoughtfully, "I think my father would've preferred going down fighting instead of being pushed off a mountain."   
  


"Few of us can choose the way we die," Britt said softly.   
  


"I understand. I guess," Lee said. After a few moments of silence he spoke again. "Would you mind answering another question? It's something that's been bothering me for a long time."   
  


"Shoot," Britt said.   
  


"My father was always open about you and his, uh, night time 'hobby', but he never told me anything about his family. It was always on of those things he would ignore or slide over. I know that he came from China, but I never knew anything else beyond that. You can trace your own family way back, and you have a lot to be proud of, but I have no roots, no family even. My mother's folks kicked her out of the family when they found out that she had married an oriental. Even when I was born, they wanted to have nothing to do with us, so I prefer to keep it that way. You know, I don't even know what my father's real name was. Kato's a Japanese name, not Chinese. Jeez, I don't even have a last name. If you know something, could you please tell me?" Lee pleaded.   
  


"I'm sorry, but I never knew Kato's real name either. In the early days of our friendship I would try to drag it out of him, but he always resisted my prodding. Maybe my father knew it, but he refused to tell me and told me to back off. After a while I gave up trying to find out. I learned then that when somebody wants to forget about their past, it's best to respect their wishes."   
  


"I see. It's like you turning away from your past as the Green Hornet," Lee said unhappily.   
  


"Exactly," Britt admitted.   
  


"Then my father's history is lost to me forever. I'll never know who I really am."   
  


"Maybe not forever. There is something I can tell you. I don't know if it'll help you very much but perhaps if you ever have the chance to get to mainland China, maybe what I can tell you will give you something to go on."   
  


Lee smiled hopefully, "Tell me."   
  


"Well," Britt said, easing himself into a more comfortable position, "It's a very long story, but considering how heavy traffic is getting, I think we'll have plenty of time."   
  


"You see, my father and I were the ones who got him out of China. It all began when my father received a very unexpected honor. It was in the late 50's when I was still in college, that my father received an invitation to join a very select number of newsmen of a tour of Red China. The late Chairman Mao was involved in his first Five Year Plan for the industrialization of China and he wanted to show off all that had been accomplished to the Western World. Most of the reporters were from either the major networks or from very big, well-known newspapers. Even though the Daily Sentinel had not yet achieved the reputation it has now, my father had been specifically asked for.   
  


Before he founded the Daily Sentinel, he had worked as a foreign correspondent all over the world. During WWII he had spent some time in Yan'an and had written favorably about the discipline of the Communist troops that were fighting the Japanese. So, years later, remembering what my father had written, Chairman Mao had requested that my father be included in the group. I was surprised when they agreed to my father's request that I be included as a special favor. Yes," Britt reminisced, "It was quite an honor."   
  



	3. China

Chapter Three   
  


China   
  


I   
  


Staring up at the roughly plastered ceiling, Britt was starting to have serious doubts about whether this whole China trip was such an honor after all. He could not imagine when he had been so bored. It seemed like the entire trip had been made up of nothing but one visit after another to model factories, model communes and model schools. He swore that he would go stark, raving mad if he saw one more model anything.   
  


He had hoped to visit with some of the Chinese people to find out what they were really like, but everything had been so orchestrated, so controlled, that he'd never had a chance to meet with anyone. He had tried to strike up conversations with their very young, and very serious escorts cum guards, but every time he tried to practice his halting Chinese, he was grimly but politely rebuffed.   
  


Despite the broad smiles and polite, deferential gestures, Britt, his father and their fellow newsmen were more prisoners than guests. They were only allowed to see what they were supposed to see and then after the show was over for the day they were herded into antique railroad cars or decrepit guest houses. There, they were closely guarded- supposedly for their own protection. Both the guests and the hosts were playing roles. They both knew it. Everyone was always smiling, but only with their lips, never with their eyes.   
  


Britt had quickly tired of the game-playing. Henry, his father, had brought him along with the intention of teaching him about the use of propaganda, but Britt was now thinking that he could've learned that from any political campaign back home. He would've preferred to stay at home; chasing girls and partying, to laying on a thin mattress in a frail, creaky iron cot that failed to accommodate his 6'2" frame, listening through the paper thin walls to somebody's rafter rattling snores.   
  


Earlier that morning he had made the decision to strike out on his own into the countryside so that he could discover for himself the real China. He was confident that there were scores of people out there eager to tell him their story. Even with his poor command of the Chinese language, he was positive that he would have no trouble at all. He had set aside some of his breakfast and lunch for tonight's expedition, explaining that he didn't feel well and was going to save the food for later when he did feel better. Everyone had experienced stomach problems at least once on this trip, so his actions had not aroused any suspicions, although his father had looked at him narrowly as he had wrapped the food in a piece of cloth.   
  


Now he was ready, but he had to be very sure that his father was soundly asleep before he left the room. He had made a point of roaming around late every night under the excuse of youthful restlessness, but he did not want his father to be too alert when he made his move. Henry had learned early to keep a sharp eye on his headstrong son. If he even slightly suspected that Britt was up to something, he would further tighten Britt's already too-short leash.   
  


Trying to slow the nervous beating of his heart, Britt listened to the slow, steady breathing of his father sleeping on the other cot that shared the tiny room. Given the uncomfortable beds and the humid, still air, Britt was amazed that anyone could sleep at all. Finally satisfied that his father was truly soundly asleep, Britt very carefully eased himself out of his bed. The ancient cot gave out a terrible screech. Britt froze in place, sure that the noise was not only loud enough to wake his father but to summon every soldier for miles around. To his relief his father stirred only briefly without waking. He relaxed from the frozen crouch over his bed.   
  


He crept on stocking feet to the clothing he had carelessly dumped on the floor in front of his bed. They were inadequate for roving around the Chinese countryside on foot, but his father had banned from Britt's suitcase his usual attire of denims, sport shirts and boots, explaining that he was supposed to give a good impression of American youth, not look like some kind of farm hand. He contemptuously discarded the suit coat and shrugged into the white shirt. At least it was made of good material and could be made more comfortable by rolling up the sleeves. He allowed himself a quiet sigh of disgust as he examined the loafers before slipping them onto his feet. He would've given a fortune for of decent pair of hiking boots, or even a pair of sturdy sneakers. The loafers were brand new, bought again at his father's insistence, and had an annoying tendency to slip off his heels whenever he took a step.   
  


After dressing, Britt paused for a moment thinking over his plans, making sure he was not missing anything. He thought over his rejection of the suit coat and decided to take it along. The dark coat, with its collar and lapels turned up would help cover his white shirt, making him less noticeable in the dark. He crept across the small room and very gently eased open the door. He almost jumped out of his skin when Henry mumbled sleepily, "Where are you going, Britt?"   
  


Trying to sound casual, Britt replied, "I gotta take a leak, Dad."   
  


"Why are you all dressed up?" Henry asked, trying to make out his son's form in the dim light.   
  


"I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to go around in nothing but my skivvies," Britt answered, hoping his father had not noticed the small bundle that he had slipped through the barely opened door.   
  


Henry rubbed his eyes sleepily. He was exhausted. A nagging feeling told him that Britt was up to something, but he decided the questions could wait until Britt got back to their room. He laid back in the cot, planning on waiting for Britt to return, but in a few moments was fast asleep.   
  


Britt gently closed the door behind him as he stepped into the darkened 

hallway. He was beginning to have second thoughts, but he determinedly set them aside. _No really worthwhile story was ever written without taking chances_, he told himself as he tiptoed to the guesthouse's lone bathroom. Once inside, Britt opened the window in the back wall, and poked his head out of the screenless window, checking for any signs of the guards. Content that the coast was clear, he thrust his gear out of the window and then wriggled his broad shoulders through the small window, following his belongings out the building.   
  


Britt stood against the wall for a few moments, trying to get his bearings as he tried to decide in what direction he should go. The tour group would be heading northeast toward Peking by rail along the Yellow River. He decided to go in that same general direction. That way, he reasoned, he would be able to rejoin them whenever it was convenient for him to do so. With the river to the north and the mountains to the south, he should not get lost.   
  


Near dusk, as the sun slowly sank behind him, Britt spotted a small collection of buildings surrounded by vast fields of ripening wheat. At this late hour most of the farmers were at home, sitting before their evening meal. He decided it would be a good time to get acquainted with the locals. He stood up from the rock where he had eaten his skimpy meal hidden from sight from the dusty road and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. He was still hungry and the prospect of going through the night hungry didn't appeal to him. He walked to the nearest building and entered through a small, neatly-kept courtyard. From the door of the white-stuccoed house he could hear the sound of laughter and the compelling smell of food.   
  


Fervently hoping that offering food to a stranger was a part of traditional Chinese etiquette, he slowly opened the door and greeted the seated diners with what he hoped were the right words. All conversation suddenly died into frozen silence. Then the diner's expressions quickly changed from surprise, to shock and then to violent hatred as everyone leaped from their seats. Britt exploded out of the house, followed by angry farmers screaming unintelligible curses. Soon the commotion was echoed by the entire community as everyone sped out of their homes after the lone American.   
  


The sky flashed and rumbled, sending heavy sheets of rain sweeping down from the thick clouds overhead, as Britt dove into the wheatfields with pitchfork wielding peasants close at his heels. To the confused American, trapped in a nightmare of deafening thunder and strobing lightning that alternately plunged him from stygian darkness into blinding light, it seemed like all of China had turned against him.   
  


Running in blind panic, he broke out of the field and onto the banks of one of the earthen dikes that had been built to control the unpredictable waters of the Yellow River. He slipped and slid down the side of the dike and into the flood-swollen water that raged against the dike's muddy walls. The coldness quickly revived him, but the raging water caught at him, tossing him around and around, threatening to pull him under to his death. Although he was a strong swimmer, he could not fight free from the powerful current which ripped him loose every time he tried to climb up the slick sides of the dike. He gasped and choked on the filthy water until, completely drained, he gave up and began to sink under the insistent torrent. Some inner instinct for survival made him grasp at a large tree limb that nudged against him, and with the last remnants of strength he pulled his head and shoulders onto it before sinking into unconsciousness.   
  


The humid heat of day found Britt in a shallow bend of a stream. Britt wearily pulled himself to dry land, and laid there gasping like a fish out of water. He was thoroughly lost and had no idea of where he was or how far the flood had carried him. Britt was alone in a country where he could not speak the language and where for the moment existed an uneasy truce between this country and his own. He momentarily considered contacting the local authorities in the hope that they would return him to his father, but he quickly rejected the idea. He had no idea of how they would react to having a young American appear on their doorstep. Perhaps, believing he was a spy, they would torture and kill him. He wondered whether that would be any worse than facing his father's righteous anger and disappointment.   
  


He wandered directionless for several miles. He had no idea of how long it had been since he had last eaten and he was becoming dizzy from hunger. The searing heat of the sun beat down on him with the blows of a heavy , burning hammer, sapped what little strength he had left. His feet felt as heavy as lead and yet his head felt impossibly light. The cool mountains on the horizon beckoned to him through the waves of heat that floated above the rapidly drying ground. Through the haze of choking yellow dust, Britt saw the fanciful lines of a Chinese pagoda, its blue-tiled tiered roofs curving like wings, but he dismissed it as a mirage of his fevered mind. Finally no longer able to go on, he collapsed in the shade of a small copse of trees along a mildly trickling stream. A horrible pain ripped through his gut, folding him into a tight ball as he lost consciousness.   
  
  
  


II   
  
  
  


Britt spun dizzily in fever dreams for many days. The faces of friends and relatives faded in and out before his eyes, some long dead like his vigilante great-uncle, others still living like the heavy breathing blonde from his journalism class. A long time ago, when he had been very young, he and his mother had drunk some tainted water while traveling with his father on an overseas assignment for one of the wire services. Britt and his mother came down with Cholera. Only Britt had survived. Or had his fate been merely postponed? Slowly reality took form as the fever dreams faded away into phantoms of memory and he found himself gazing into age-clouded black eyes set into a face yellowed and wrinkled like ancient parchment. Noticing that Britt had returned to full awareness the old man's face crinkled into a gentle smile. When Britt tried to push himself up the old man firmly pressed him back down with surprising strength. The old man spoke rapidly to someone just out of Britt's sight.   
  


A young man came into view with the soft pad of bare feet on the highly polished wooden floor. He was about five or six years younger than Britt, and had the shaven head and saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. He listened attentively to the old man's instructions and then turned to Britt. "Are you English?" he asked in heavily accented English.   
  


"No," Britt replied, "I'm American. Where am I?" he asked.   
  


"You are at Shaolin tze, Young Forest Temple. Master Sung found you and has been taking care of you these last few days. I am called Shao Lung, Little Dragon." the young man explained, his pronunciation of the word _shao_ seeming to Britt's ears to be somewhat different between that of the temple's name and his own. "Master Sung," he continued, "has instructed me to serve as your interpreter and guide. If you have any questions, I am here to answer them." 

"Little Dragon," Britt asked, "That's an interesting name. Does it mean anything special?"   
  


"It is the name I have been given, and it is the name you may call me by," the young man replied cooly, the tone of his voice barring any further question about his origins.   
  


"I see," Britt said, wondering about the young man whose flashing black eyes suggested a nature far at odds with the supposedly contemplative personality of a monk. "Can I ask how come you know how to speak English?"   
  


The young man nodded slightly. "When I was a young child, I lived with a Christian missionary and his family. They taught me how to speak and read English. I was sent here when they were forced to escape the Communists."   
  


The elderly monk gently placed a delicate long-fingered hand on the shoulder of the young man and spoke to him. Shao Lung nodded and turned back to Britt. "Master Sung wishes to know who you are and how you came to be here so far from your native country."   
  


"My name's Britt Reid," he answered, "I'm the son of an American newspaperman. My father and I were part of a group of newsmen invited here by the Communists to see how far China has progressed under their control. During the whole trip all that was shown to us were factories and model communes, so I decide to strike out on my own, and find out for myself what your country is really like. Unfortunately I don't know much Chinese, so when I tried to talk with some farmers I must have said the wrong thing because they took after me.   
  


I got lost during a thunderstorm and fell into a ditch where I almost drowned. I don't have any idea of how long I was in the water or how far I was carried until I was washed up near your temple. I need your help. I have to find some way to reach my father and let him know that I'm okay."   
  


The elder monk listened to Shao Lung's interpretation with a mildly amused expression. Then he slowly rose to his feet and after leaving a set of instructions, he glided out of the room.   
  


"Wait a minute . . . " Britt began as he tried to climb out of the cot.   
  


Shao Lung eased him back down. "Master Sung told me to tell you that he will do what he can to return you to your own people, but it will take time. You must be patient," he said soothingly. "Master Sung has also instructed me to see to your needs. Is there anything that you require?"   
  


"Yeah. I'd like to have my clothes back," Britt said, suddenly keenly aware of his nakedness beneath the thick quilted blanket that covered him.   
  


"I am sorry that is not possible. Your clothing was completely ruined and had to be disposed of."   
  


"But isn't there something around here that I could put on? I can't go around here buck naked, and I sure as hell don't want to wear those robes you all wear," Britt objected.   
  


"I will see what can be done. You are very tall and it will be very difficult to find or make something that will fit you," Shao Lung said and broke into a large grin.   
  


"What's so funny?" Britt asked irritatedly, wondering if he was the butt of some kind of joke.   
  


"Most of the monks here have never seen a European before. They were very surprised to see that there was so much hair all over your body."   
  


"_Great_," Britt thought. Aloud he growled, "I'm sure glad I was able to provide some education for you."   
  


Shao Lung's grin instantly disappeared at Britt's sudden anger, "I was not making fun of you. I was thinking of what some of them said. Some even said that it proves that Europeans are closer to apes than the Chinese are. I am sorry if I have insulted you."   
  


Hardly appeased, Britt muttered, "Okay, apology accepted. That is if you can remember that I'm an American, not a European. Those are two absolutely different things. Now why don't you just get out of here, so I can get some rest." He was starting to feel ill again and he didn't want to show his weakness to this bothersome young stranger.   
  


"I cannot do that. Master Sung ordered me to remain at your side. I must do as I was told," Shao Lung insisted.   
  


"Fine," Britt muttered as he slumped under the coverlet and turned his back on his appointed caretaker. "Suit yourself."   
  


As the days passed Britt's health steadily improved until he was strong enough to go on frequent guided tours of the monastery with Shao Lung. The monastery sat at the foot of cloud shrouded mountains whose rugged grey sides were barely covered by towering pines. The grey bricks and stone of the monastery's walls and buildings seemed as eternal and stolid as the mountains as if they were made of the living rock themselves.   
  


From the monastery's high towers Shao Lung pointed out to Britt the softly rolling foothills which sheltered grey-bricked farmsteads surrounded by lush fields of ripening grain. Occasionally farmers and their families would come to the monastery seeking advice and treatment about an illness whether it be animal or human. So too did they come to have one of the monks read a letter received from a relative who gone to live in the city or conscripted into the army.   
  


As he Wandered through the corridors and courtyards of the ancient monastery, Britt was fascinated by the slow, graceful rhythm of life within it. The monastery was alive with activities that made it nearly self sufficient. Gardens fed the mind and body with a wide variety of flowers, vegetables and medicinal herbs.   
  


Through open doors and in the courtyards he could see monks and their students painting flowing brushstrokes upon rice paper so beautiful it was hard to decide whether what was being created was a poem, a philosophical treatise or a mountain-filled vista. He also listened in silence to music that Shao Lung described as exquisitely beautiful even though to his western ears it seemed to be painfully dissonant.   
  


The unique martial art they practiced was especially intriguing to the young American. It was as much a part of their daily life as the chants and prayers that vibrated through the air at all hours of the day . He remarked to his young guide, "It's strange to see monks studying fighting. I've never heard of that in the West."   
  


"It is not common here in China either. The techniques we practice were originally developed many centuries ago by the Buddhist monk, Bodhidharma, from India. By fully developing our physical strength, we are also developing our chi, our inner strength or life force. It is through gung fu which means literally in English, hard work, that we become more able to withstand the rigors of meditation and study. According to the principle of yin-yang, the balancing of opposites, we balance the quiet stillness of meditation with the physical exertion of gung fu."   
  


"How good are you at this gung fu?" Britt asked.   
  


Shao Lung grinned broadly, his coal-black eyes shining with pride, "Outside of just a few of the masters, I am the best. Someday I will surpass even them."   
  


Britt smiled wryly as the boast, "Is that just your opinion, or do the others agree with you?"   
  


Shao Lung snorted derisively. "The others say that I am lacking in the proper humility. They say that I am too proud and that I will never attain enlightenment if I do not respect my elders. Surely though, it is not good to be falsely humble. I know what I can do. I am only being honest when I say that I am very, very good. Surely it is the others who lack humility if they are too proud to admit my abilities because I am so young. Come," he said, "In the main courtyard, many of my brothers will be demonstrating their skills before the elder masters. I will show you how good I really am."   
  


Shao Lung led Britt to a large sandy courtyard where most of the monks had gathered around its outer edges. Two men were already involved in a sparring match in the center. Shao Lung left Britt at the sidelines and walked quickly to a platform where Master Sung and the other elders of the monastery were seated. He spoke briefly with them and then disappeared into the crowd of young men waiting for their turn to display their skills.   
  


Britt watched as man after man tested his skills against another. No one remained victorious very long, each finding defeat after taking on only a few opponents. Then the crowd murmured in awe and cleared a path as a newcomer entered the arena. He was almost Britt's height, but was much older with tough, ropy muscles that stood out on his spare form. He bowed to the elders on the dais and then to the victor of the last match. The victor returned the bow, but left the arena, unwilling to fight the older man.   
  


Here, Britt, thought, must be one of the best fighters, for no one came forward to challenge him. Britt couldn't spot Shao Lung and wondered where he had gone to and whether he would see the boastful young man fight. He seriously doubted that Shao Lung would be able to fight this man, never mind defeating him.   
  


Expressing supreme confidence in every movement of his slender muscular frame, Shao Lung entered the arena. He was wearing a black padded loin cloth and padded gloves that unlike the Western version, possessed fingers. Grinning broadly, Shao Lung bowed to his opponent who returned his bow with grim disapproval. The two men then bowed to the elders on the platform, and then to the monks assembled around them and finally again to each other.   
  


They made several ritual gestures before the larger monk flicked a quick kick at the smaller Shao Lung. Shao Lung easily sidestepped it and countered with a kick of his own which the large monk avoided and countered with a blow of his own. They moved in a dizzying blur, as move and countermove followed in rapid succession without a single blow reaching home. The two men were evenly matched despite their difference in size and age and very rarely managed to land a blow upon his opponent.   
  


Britt shot a quick glance at his watch. An hour had passed and there was still no winner. Neither man was willing yet to admit to a defeat or a draw although both were breathing heavily and their bodies glistened with sweat. Britt gazed at the setting sun, wondering what would happen if there was still no clear winner before nightfall. Would the match be stopped when it became too dark for the two fighters to see each other or would they just light some torches and wait until somebody dropped from sheer exhaustion?   
  


Slowly Shao Lung's youthful stamina overcame the older man's skill and he began to increasingly break through his guard. He continued pressing his advantage, aggressively attacking his tiring opponent without letting up. Britt smiled in admiration. Perhaps the little guy wasn't full of hot air, after all. But as the last rays of the sun faded away Shao Lung suddenly broke off his assault and bowed in respect to the older man, who on wobbly legs returned it. The crowd roared its approval of Shao Lung's respectful gesture and the older man's skill.   
  


Britt stayed at the edges of the crowd, watching Shao Lung and the older monk receive the congratulations of their fellows. Grinning broadly and flushed with victory, Shao Lung caught Britt's eye. He threaded through the saffron-robed throng, and caught up Britt's arm, leading him to a quiet corner.   
  


"Very impressive," Britt admitted. "But why didn't you go ahead and finish him?"   
  


Shao Lung shook his head. "There would have been no purpose to that. He is very good. I had no wish to disgrace him. Tell me, what do you think of gung fu now?" he asked eagerly.   
  


It's an interesting fighting technique, but I don't think it'd be any good in a real fight," Britt commented.   
  


"What do you mean, real fight?" Shao Lung demanded angrily.   
  


"Well . . . all that ritual bowing and stuff. I mean, while you're busy doing that some guy could blow you away with a gun or stick you between the ribs," Britt explained.   
  


Shao Lung crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Britt. "Of course you consider yourself an expert in that kind of fighting?"   
  


"More than my father would willingly allow," Britt admitted. "In fact, he hired an ex-cop to keep me out of just that kind of trouble."   
  


"So, how does one fight in a 'real' fight?" Shao Lung asked.   
  


"For one thing. You throw all the rules out the window. And for another, you never give the other bum an even break."   
  


"Is that the way people always fight in your country? Without honor? There is nothing there like gung fu?"   
  


"In street fighting there is no honor, only survival. But while there is nothing just like gung fu, there are other, more formal, ways of fighting. Like boxing and wrestling. They have all kinds of rules about how you're supposed to fight, but . . . "   
  


"What do you know of those fighting techniques?" Shao Lung interrupted. He was intrigued by the idea of new kinds of fighting techniques. "Do you know how to do them?"   
  


"A little," Britt said with a slight shrug. "I've wrestled and boxed a little in high school and college and have always taken my weight class," he said in careless understatement. "But like I said, stuff like that is useless in the real world."   
  


"That doesn't matter. I want you to teach me the Western way of fighting." Shao Lung demanded.   
  


"I don't know. I'm not very good at teaching."   
  


"Teach me what you do know, and I will teach you gung fu," Shao Lung offered.   
  


"What makes you think I want to learn it?" Britt goaded. "I've never had any problems defending myself. Why should I go to the trouble of learning gung fu?"   
  


"If you are too lazy to learn something new, that is your problem. I still want to learn the Western way of fighting. You will show me," Shao Lung demanded.   
  


Britt shook his head. He was enjoying needling the cocky young oriental. "Nah. I don't want to hurt you. My father told me never to pick on anybody who's smaller than me. Besides you must be tired now."   
  


Shao Lung stepped back, sizing up the big American, "I am not too tired to fight you. I think you are just full of talk. You don't really know Western fighting techniques, or," he paused meaningfully, "perhaps you are ashamed of what little skill you do have."   
  


"Oh, you think so?" Britt asked, drawing himself to his full height, crossing his arms across his chest. He was over six inches taller than Shao Lung and even though he had lost a lot of weight during his illness, he still out weighed him by several pounds.   
  


Shao Lung nodded curtly. "I know so," he said defiantly.   
  


Britt looked at Shao Lung through narrowed eyes. "You remind me of someone I know."   
  


"I remind you of a friend of yours?"   
  


"Well, actually, you remind me of his chicken," Britt teased.   
  


"His chicken?" Shao Lung exclaimed, outraged by Britt's insult.   
  


"Yeah. You see, he owned this Bantam rooster," Britt said, enjoying Shao Lung's confusion. "And this rooster was the king of the chicken coop. He wouldn't let anybody mess with him. Pound for pound he was the toughest bird around. He wasn't afraid of anything. Not dogs, not cats, nothing. Well, one day this coyote, that's an animal that's kind of like a wolf, only smaller and a lot smarter. Anyway," Britt continued, warming up to his story. "This coyote came right into the chicken yard and chases all the other chickens around the place and this little rooster comes right up to the coyote and tries to take him on."   
  


"And this, uh, coyote, is defeated by the rooster," Shao Lung interrupted impatiently, tiring of Britt's pointless story.   
  


"Nope. The rooster gets eaten by the coyote," Britt finished, grinning broadly.   
  


"I guess the point of your little story is that you see yourself as this coyote and me as the rooster," Shao Lung said contemptuously.   
  


"No. What I'm getting at is that it doesn't matter how brave you are, if your opponent is a lot bigger than you, it's best not to try to fight him. You'll wind up losing if you do."   
  


Shao Lung snorted derisively. "You have proven nothing, except you talk too much. Talking does not make the better fighter."   
  


Britt glanced at the now-empty courtyard. "You sure you want to do it now? It's getting too dark for us to even see each other."   
  


Shao Lung sidestepped to the courtyard's center and with a flourish of his hand pointed out the brilliant full moon above them. "The moon will be our light and the witness to your defeat."   
  


"I'm not going to dress in no skimpy loincloth," Britt warned.   
  


"That is not necessary. It is not the costume a man wears that matters, it is the man within it," Shao Lung countered angrily. "I am tiring of your delaying tactics. Prove to me right now that you are not all talk."   
  


Britt shrugged his shoulders and ambled casually to the center of the courtyard and faced the slender oriental. Shao Lung made a deep bow and Britt returned it, but as he rose he threw a powerful roundhouse punch, knocking Shao Lung off his feet. Shao Lung rolled when he hit the ground and bounced back to his feet. "Why you . . . " he began heatedly.   
  


"There are no rules in the real world, Shorty," Britt goaded.   
  


The two young men wove in battle in the bright moonlight, their shadows intertwining and separating in eerie counterpoint. Neither man was willing to admit defeat at the hands of the other. Shao Lung had expected to defeat the American easily, but his fighting style was completely foreign to what he had ever experienced in the monastery. The precise forms and movements that had been constantly drilled into him were ineffective against the American braggart. He never did what Shao Lung expected him to do. He was never where he was supposed to be. His method of fighting was without grace or rhythm or style. Instead he possessed an amazing, brutally powerful strength, so that every hit he managed to get through Shao Lung's guard was enough to knock him dizzy. He felt like he was trying to knock down a tree with his bare feet. It was not impossible, but it was very difficult. And painful.   
  


Britt too, found it hard trying to pin down the graceful Shao Lung. He was accustomed to using his size and strength to win, but he found it hard to get a hand on his elusive opponent. The much smaller Shao Lung repeatedly slipped out of his reach. Shao Lung's method of combining attack and block in the same movement made most of his few hits very costly. His body was starting to turn black and blue from failing to effectively protect himself. Suddenly he found his feet swept out from under him by a low sweeping kick. His breath was knocked out of him, but he swept up his own longer legs and knocked Shao Lung to the ground before he could dodge out of the way. Britt tried to press his advantage by using his greater weight to pin Shao Lung to the ground, but the agile young man repeatedly slipped out of his hold.   
  


They grappled futilely for several long minutes until they were drenched by an icy bucket of water. Still holding the empty bucket, Master Sung angrily berated Shao Lung as he hastily climbed to his feet. Britt scrambled to his feet and stood next to the downcast Shao Lung. "Hey! Lay off him. I'm as much at fault as he is," Britt defended Shao Lung, not caring whether the old master understood him or not.   
  


Master Sung glared at Britt's interruption and shot a few more angry words at Shao Lung, who meekly bowed at the old man's back as he stalked away.   
  


"What did he say?"Britt demanded.   
  


Thoroughly reprimanded, a crestfallen Shao Lung answered, "Master Sung said that we should not have been fighting. Even though you look and feel well, you are not yet fully recovered. A match such as this could make you very sick again. He reminded me that he had told me to watch over you. I have betrayed his trust in me. I have lost face."   
  


"Good God, Shao Lung it's not all that bad. I'm fine. Can't you tell him that we weren't really fighting. I mean, well, that we weren't really mad at each other. We were just, uh, sparring, trying to find out how Western fighting techniques compare with gung fu," Britt said, absently wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He had not even noticed when it had started bleeding. He also noticed that Shao Lung was sporting an impressive shiner that had almost closed his right eye completely shut.   
  


Shao Lung found a piece of cloth and gave it to Britt. "No. It was entirely my fault. I have failed Master Sung, myself and you," he said dejectedly.   
  


"What will happen to you now?" Britt asked, worried that he might lose his only friend in the whole country. He hated to admit to himself that the idea of being alone again was frightening.   
  


"I am to report to Master Sung in his quarters. He will tell me what my punishment is to be."   
  


"Isn't there anything I can do? Anything I can say?"   
  


Shao Lung shook his head sadly. "Nothing."   
  


Shao Lung sat back on his haunches, tiredly surveying the expanse of the Great Hall that stretched around him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and flexed his fingers that were sore and raw from the harsh soap he was using to clean the floor.   
  


"Can you use a hand?" Britt's voice echoed through the huge room as he walked toward Shao Lung with a bucket in his hand. "I guess this is the proper thing to wear when you're scrubbing floors in China," he said, tugging at the cotton loin cloth that wound between his buttocks. "I don't mind going native, especially since I don't have any of my own clothes, but I'll punch out anybody who tries to shave my head," he said with a crooked grin.   
  


"You should not be here," Shao Lung said, surprised at Britt presence.   
  


"Uh, uh. I should be here," Britt disagreed. "Since half of the blame is mine, so should half the punishment. I'm just glad that you only have to do was the floor. It's just this room's floor, right?"   
  


"Yes. That is enough."   
  


"Yeah, it sure is," Britt agreed, sizing up the hall's vast expanse and the massive Buddha that dominated the room with solemn eyes that flashed like something alive in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles that filled the entire hall with a soft golden glow that failed to penetrate the furthest corners.   
  


Master Sung glanced through the slightly open door and smiled to himself. He was pleased to find that the two young men were beginning to cooperate with each other. Chin, the monk that Shao Lung had fought to a standstill, was not so pleased. "Again Shao Lung has disobeyed you. Now he is sharing with that foreigner the punishment that was to be his alone. He should have sent him away and done as he was commanded."   
  


Master Sung shook his head, quietly pressing the door closed, not wishing to alert Shao Lung and Britt to the fact that they were being watched. "The American came of his own will and offered to share the punishment. That is most admirable. It is good that they are learning to work together."   
  


"Work?" Hmph," Chin said derisively, "Listen to their laughter. They are not working. They are enjoying themselves. You cannot call what they are doing punishment.   
  


"The object of punishment is to teach a lesson, to straighten a tree that is starting to grow crookedly, not to stunt its growth. I wanted Shao Lung to become friends with the American and now he is becoming so. The punishment is accomplishing it purpose. Those two young men are learning to work together and that is good. It is also good to hear Shao Lung laugh. Before I have only heard him laugh after he has won a match or played a trick on another. Now for the first time, I am hearing him laughing with a friend."   
  


Chin shook his head disagreeably. "That Shao Lung. You never should have taken him in. He had been a constant threat to the tranquility of the temple. He is always impatient. The only time he is attentive is when we teach gung fu. Even then, he is always in a rush, always seeking the quickest and simplest way of doing something. He has no respect for the traditions of this temple."   
  


"Nevertheless he is an excellent pupil and is quickly surpassing all others in skill. Soon, even you will have to acknowledge him as your better. Perhaps that is why you dislike him so," Master Sung pointed out.   
  


"I am not the only one," Chin protested.   
  


"No, you are not. Shao Lung is a gadfly. He irritates those who would rather remain set in their plodding paths, not caring where they are going or why. They are unable to look beyond their own noses to see the horizon. I wish we had more impatient ones like our little dragon. Times are changing and without the youth of ones like him this temple and everything it means will die."   
  


Chin reluctantly yielded, "Despite my reservations, I will accept your decision as I always have, but the foreigner, he does not belong here. He is well now and he should leave us. If the Communists find out that he is here, it could endanger us all. All too often in the past our temple has been destroyed by governments that have objected to our activities. Even now they are trying to turn the villagers in the valley below our monastery against us. If they discover that foreigner among us," Chin warned, "They will have the excuse they need to destroy us."   
  


"I cannot turn him out, to wander alone and defenseless in a country where he does not speak the language. He would be as helpless as a newborn babe and would soon come to harm. I cannot allow that. I found him and nursed him back to health. It is my duty to see that he is returned to his father safely," Master Sung argued gently.   
  


"Then turn him over to the authorities. Perhaps if they understand that we were waiting for him to get well before turning him over to them, they will not punish us. I am sure they will return him to his own people safely," Chin said, trying to sound reasonable.   
  


"If I could be sure of his safety, I would do as you suggest, but these people, these Communists, have no love of that young man's country. I fear that if I put him into their hands he will be harmed, or even killed. I cannot allow that to happen," Master Sung explained.   
  


"Something must be done with him. He cannot stay here forever."   
  


"I realize that. When the proper time comes, the solution will present itself."   
  


"I do not share your faith in that happening. That foreigner's presence here will destroy us all."   
  


"Perhaps that is our fate. My decision stands. We will not send him away until the proper time," Master Sung stated firmly, the tone of his voice allowing no further argument.   
  
  
  
  
  


III   
  
  
  


Britt pushed back from his writing for a moment, reading over what he had written while he waited for the ink to dry. He had decided to start a journal as a way to fill the time while the monks were involved in their meditations. It was impossible for him to use the brushes that the monks used for writing but Master sung had been able to produce from the monastery's storeroom an antique fountain pen. The brush ink was not the best for a pen, but he made do. He resolved that the next time he went on an adventure he would remember to take a pen along. Perhaps, he thought, the material he was putting down would form a good basis for an award winning story. Something that would make up for all the trouble he had caused his father.   
  


"Uh, Shao Lung," he asked the young man as he entered the room, "Have you heard anything about my father and his party yet?"   
  


"No. I am sorry, but there has been no news about them. But you shouldn't worry. It is very difficult for us to find out what is happening outside of the monastery."   
  


"There must be some way that I can get in contact with the American consulate in Hong Kong," Britt said as he began pacing the room. "I have to find some way to get back home. I've been here for almost two months. Everyone probably has given me up for dead by now."   
  


"Aren't you happy here?" Shao Lung asked.   
  


Britt stopped his pacing. "Yeah. I guess in a way I've been happy here. I've learned about things, a way of life, I never though existed before. I'm glad that I've had that chance, but I don't belong here. I miss my father, and my friends. One way or the other, I must go home. Isn't there anything I can do, besides wait?"   
  


Shao Lung thought for a moment. "There is nothing either of us can do, but I have heard that Chin knows many people in the village. Perhaps he could find a way of getting word out to your people that you are safe," he suggested.   
  


"Hey! That's a great idea," Britt said eagerly. "Why don't we talk to him right now? Why didn't you mention him before?"   
  


"He has never accepted your being here. I don't know if he will want to help you," Shao Lung said as he tried to keep up with Britt who was already out the door.   
  


"If he doesn't want me here, then he should be happy to get rid of me," Britt reasoned.   
  


"His way of getting rid of you, might not be the same as yours," Shao Lung warned, "It could be very unpleasant."   
  


"Of course, I am willing to help you. I have made no secret of my objection to your being here. I will be very glad to help you return to your own people," Chin smiled smugly as he watched the surprised Shao Lung translate his words. "Shao Lung and I have not been the best of friends, but that is to be expected when the young try to usurp their betters."   
  


Shao Lung frowned angrily at Chin's words, saying to Britt, "Sometimes the incompetent have an inflated idea of their own abilities."   
  


When Chin asked Shao Lung what he had said, Britt tightly grasped his friend's arm to stop him from literally interpreting what he had said, "Tell him that I will be forever in his debt and that I will greatly appreciate any aid he will be able to give me," Britt said and added, "Don't queer things for me by getting him mad at us," he warned.   
  


After the pair had left, Chin rose and gazed toward the village where the peasants were returning from their work in the fields. "Yes, young man, I can understand your eagerness to go," he said to himself with a wolfish grin, "And I will be very happy to aid you. Whether you will truly appreciate what I do, that will be another matter, but that is not important. I will be rid of you and that bothersome upstart as well."   
  


After many days of anxious waiting Britt was, for the hundredth time, pulling out the few things he had collected during his stay at the monastery. He arranged them and rearranged them, trying to decide the best way to pack them for his eagerly anticipated trip home. "You act like you will be leaving soon," Shao Lung remarked, watching Britt rolling his journal in oilcloth and tying it with a red cord.   
  


"I just want to be prepared," Britt explained. "When the word comes, I may have to move quickly. I don't want to forget anything."   
  


"You should not count so much on Chin's being able to help you. He might fail, or he may not be doing what he said he would. I think you are trusting him too much."   
  


Without stopping what he was doing, Britt answered, "Maybe I am and then again, maybe not, but I have a feeling that I better be prepared all the same," he paused, suddenly noticing that Shao Lung seemed to be upset. "What's bugging you?" he asked worriedly. "Have you heard something you're not telling me?"   
  


"I have heard nothing. It's just . . . It's just that I have enjoyed your company a great deal. I am going to miss you very much."   
  


"I'll miss you too. I'll try to keep in touch. I promise," Britt said, relieved that there was no bad news for him.   
  


"I want to go with you," Shao Lung blurted out quickly.   
  


Britt stared at his friend, surprised by the desperation in his voice. "Why would you ever want to leave here?"   
  


"For the same reasons you do," Shao Lung replied, trying not to sound so desperate. "I don't want to live the rest of my life here. The others might be satisfied with it. Some, like Chin, have even chosen to return, preferring the life of a monk to that of the outside world. I have never had that chance. I want to see something of the world you have told me so much about. This might be my last chance. If you go and I cannot leave with you, I might have to stay here the rest of my life."   
  


"I don't see why you'd want to leave here. It's nothing like you've imagined. For a lot of people it's a dreary stifling existence of trying to make it from one day to another, keeping just one step ahead of the bill collector. Your life here is much better. Much easier. It's safe, ordered, peaceful. There are none of the headaches that plague the rest of us."   
  


"I don't want a life of just meditation and contemplation. I want more out of my life than that. I want to do something with my life. Please give me that chance," Shao Lung pressed.   
  


Barely convinced, Britt relented. "I'll try to get you out of here, but it won't be easy. I'm going to be in a lot of trouble with my father and probably with the governments of the U.S. and China too. So I'm not exactly the right person to plead your case. But if I can get out of here, I'll do everything I can to get you out too."   
  


Suddenly they fell to the floor as the ground beneath their feet shook violently. "What the hell?" Britt said, pulling himself to his feet. "Was that an earthquake?"   
  


"No," Shao Lung said, running to an outer window. "Look! We're being attacked," he said, pointing to a wave of blue clothed figures that poured through the temple's shattered gates. Before Britt could move to stop him, Shao Lung charged out of the room. Britt looked at the things on the bed, briefly considering striking out on his own. With a sigh, he decided against it.   
  


It was a hopeless battle from the beginning. Although the Shao-lin monks were martial arts experts, they could not overcome the relentless tide of humanity that pressed against their small numbers. Not matter how many people fell beneath the monks whirling hands and feet and the ancient weapons they used, there were always more to take their fallen comrades' places.   
  


Elbowing, shoving and punching anybody who got in the way, Britt waded through the surging humanity that filled the courtyard. He avoided the pockets of pitched battle that swirled around him, trying not to get involved in the useless defense of the temple which was already starting to smoulder from the many torches brought by the fanatical Maoists who chanted sayings from the little red books clutched in their hands as they bore down upon the temple's defenders.   
  


Only by the virtue of his greater height was he finally able to spot Shao Lung pressed into a corner against the temple wall. Britt shoved and threw out of his way anyone who happened to block his path to his embattled friend's side. He arrived just in time to see Shao Lung fall under the sheer weight of his attackers. Desperately Britt dug his way through the struggling bodies, tossing away each one like so much trash, until he was able to lift his friend clear.   
  


"We've got to get out of here!" he shouted, pulling Shao Lung to his feet and half-carrying him to the quiet of the Great Hall.   
  


"No! I can't. I must stay to defend the temple!" Shao Lung shouted back to Britt, roughly pulling out of his grasp.   
  


"It's no use. We've got to get out of here before the whole place burns down."   
  


"No. I will not leave the others. If they die here, so will I," Shao Lung declared stubbornly.   
  


"The American is right, Shao Lung. You and he must leave now," Master Sung said quietly, seeming to come from nowhere. " The temple is falling. You must escape now, while there is still time."   
  


"Are you coming with us?" Britt asked.   
  


"No. My time is almost over. I will spend what time I have left here," Master Sung said calmly as he knelt before the giant Buddha.   
  


"Then I will die defending you peace," Shao Lung fiercely announced.   
  


"No, Little Dragon, it is critical that you survive. And the American as well."   
  


"My duty is here, with you," Shao Lung argued.   
  


"Your duty is to deliver him to his people safely. He cannot survive in the countryside alone."   
  


Britt nervously watched the outer door as Shao Lung spoke to his master. He could hear the mob's shouts echo through the courtyard above the screams of the dying monks. The air in the hall was already becoming heavy with the smell of the monastery's ancient timbers burning. He hoped that they decided what to do soon, or it would be too late for them to do anything.   
  


"Young Reid," Master Sung addressed Britt in English, "You and Shao Lung must leave here immediately."   
  


"You knew how to speak English all this time?" Britt said in shocked surprise.   
  


Master Sung nodded and smiled benevolently. "Much can be learned from one when he thinks another does not understand what he is saying. You must safeguard Shao Lung. He is very valuable. He is the one that those outside want. You must make sure he does not fall into their hands. That was my duty which I must now turn over to you."   
  


"They won't take me alive," Shao Lung angrily interrupted, "I will make sure that many will die in the attempt."   
  


Ignoring Shao Lung's outburst, Britt asked, "Why is he so important to them?"   
  


"I cannot tell you that. Shao Lung will tell your father and those of your people who are in authority and only them." Master Sung told Britt. "Behind the great statue is a secret passageway between the temple and the cliffs. You will take that to safety."   
  


"My things . . . " Britt began.   
  


"No need to worry. They are safe in the passageway. Take them and leave here quickly," Master Sung instructed. "Shao Lung, you will go with young Reid. You will not argue with me about this." 

Shao Lung bowed to Master Sung, his mouth a hard straight line.   
  


"Die traitor! Die with all that you hold dear!" screamed Chin, firing a shotgun blast into the elder monk's back, killing him instantly.   
  


Shao Lung launched himself into the air with the terrifying scream of a wounded wildcat. Chin caught him in midair with the butt of the shotgun, knocking him to the ground. Shao Lung tumbled to the floor, but back-flipped to his feet in a single sinuous movement. Chin threw aside the gun, its butt shattered from it impact with Shao Lung's body. "Now Shao Lung you will acknowledge me as your true master," chin declared, bowing to the much younger man.   
  


"Never will I acknowledge you as anything as anything but a fool and a murderer," hissed Shao Lung through clenched teeth, returning Chin's bow.   
  


Britt quietly walked to the old monk's body and covered it with the folds of his saffron robe. "Goodbye, Old Man," he said softly.   
  


He stood upright and watched for a few moments as Chin and Shao Lung stalked around each other, trying to find an opening in each other's defense. Several times one or the other would make a feint trying to force the other to make a false move, but Britt could see that they were too well matched and that it would be along time before there was an obvious winner. He decided that he and Shao Lung did not have that time. He picked up the discarded shotgun and fired a blast over the combatants' heads. "I have no more time for this bullshit. We are leaving right now," he gritted in a deadly serious voice.   
  


Chin whirled and flashed a throwing dart at Britt who barely dodged the poisonous missile. Reflexively he fired and Chin fell to the floor, cursing the intruding American with his last breath.   
  


"You interfered!" Shao Lung accused angrily, "You had no right!"   
  


"I don't give a damn if I had the right or not," Britt retorted heatedly.   
  


"What you did was dishonorable."   
  


"Damn it! In the real world there is no such thing as honor. There is only survival. Master Sung wanted me to watch out for you, although right now it escapes me why I should. But I made a promise and I plan to keep it even if I have knock you out and carry you out of here," Britt said grimly, his pale blue eyes not betraying the sickness he felt in his gut. He had never killed a man before, nor seen one shattered by a shotgun blast.   
  


Shao Lung ground his teeth in indecision. It would be so easy to beat the big American, even with a gun in his hands. He shot a quick glance at Master Sung's cloaked body.   
  


"He's dead," Britt said softly.   
  


"He will live in me forever," Shao Lung said. "You have avenged his death. In time the death of the others and the destruction of this temple will be avenged as well. Even if there is no honor in the 'real' world, there is such a thing as revenge." He glared defiantly at Britt. "And such a thing as promises. We have made those that we must fulfill," he said, walking toward the great Buddha.   
  


Shao Lung squeezed behind the massive statue until he discovered a thin sliver of light from a secret door that was held open by an olive-green knapsack. He nudged it with his foot and seeing that it was fully packed, he nodded to himself. He headed back the way he had come to fetch Britt who was on alert for any more intruders into the great Hall.   
  


"I've found the door. It's a tight squeeze, but it can be done."   
  


The door opened up to a narrow cleft between the outer wall of the monastery and the sheer cliffs behind it. The shadows from the monastery's massive wall hid them from view, but did nothing to shield them from the terrific heat from the late afternoon sun impassively shining on the dying monastery. Britt rested his back against the great stone wall, trying to get his bearings, but he could still feel the heat from the fires that raged within right through the thick wall. "We better get moving," he said to Shao Lung who was leaning against a huge boulder that blocked the path. "I don't know how much longer those walls are going to hold."   
  


"The smoke's going to be thick through here, too," Shao Lung commented as he started scrambling over the rock. Once he reached the top, he extended a hand up to Britt. "The path is blocked with old rock-falls. We're going to have a hard time getting through."   
  


"Yeah," Britt agreed grimly as he reached to top. "But it's better than being caught in that inferno inside those walls."   
  


"Do you think anyone else got out?" Shao Lung asked.   
  


"Maybe," Britt said, although he personally had serious doubts that any of the monks had been able to escape. He also had serious doubts that any of the attackers had possessed enough sense to escape the flames they had set.   
  


Britt urged Shao Lung along as the massive walls began to crack and groan. "Watch where you're going. Those walls don't look very stable." Suddenly he shouted, "Look out!" Shao Lung saw the falling piece of stonework moments too late and disappeared under it. Britt shoved his shoulder against the rock, but it refused to budge.   
  


"Leave me," Shao Lung urged from under the rock. "It's no use. Get out of here before the rest of the wall comes down."   
  


"I'm not leaving you," Britt said as he tried shoving at the rock again. "I will move that damn thing off you."   
  


Another piece of stonework came tumbling down, narrowly missing Britt. "Get out of here!" Shao Lung screamed at Britt. "At least one of us should get out of here alive!"   
  


"No way. I promised that old man that I'd get you out in one piece and that's what I'm going to do." Britt bit his lip, trying to figure out what to do. "Besides I can't manage without you," he admitted quietly as he walked around the rock.   
  


What was it that Master Sung had told him about? About something called chi. He shook his head. When the old monk had told him about it, he had dismissed it as a bunch of Eastern gobbledygook. Now he wondered was it possible? Could he do it? He closed his eyes. Above the crackle of the flames that were only a few feet behind the thick wall he could hear Shao Lungs labored breathing. He knew that the young oriental was in pain despite his efforts to hide it.   
  


Britt tried closing that all out, trying to quiet the fear and apprehension that threatened to drown him. He tried to clear everything from his mind. The logical side of him told him that it was impossible, that the rock was far too big. No one could do it. He reached further into himself, blanking out the negative thoughts, remembering stories of desperate people under desperate circumstances lifting impossible weights to save another's life. He reached past the desperation, past the fear, past must and into could. He pressed his shoulder again against the rock and pushed. The rock gave a little, but Britt didn't notice. He didn't notice his back protesting, his leg and arm muscles knotting and screaming against the demand for the impossible. It wasn't impossible. It was possible. The rock gave way.   
  


Britt stood motionless. His entire body was shaking from the unusual strain. He sat on the ground next to Shao Lung who stared at him in open mouthed amazement. At the same time they asked each other, "Are you okay?" and grinned in relief.   
  


Britt and Shao Lung continued along the narrow path between the monastery and the cliffs. The sky was darkening with the coming of evening and black clouds heavy with rain were beginning to roll in. Finally they were clear of the monastery, but the path was no wider than the width of a man's shoulder. A heavy wind was picking up and threatened to tear them from the narrow path. Clutching at the sides of the cliff they continued on until they came to a narrow cleft cut into the rock. They entered and found an old door solidly blocking their way. Thunder crashed overhead and rain began clattering against the cliff wall. Shao Lung pressed his hands against the door, but it didn't budge. He looked questioningly at Britt who shook his head.   
  


"It's your turn now," Britt said.   
  


Shao Lung ran his hands around the door until he felt a small depression. He eased his fingers through it and pressed something. The door slowly creaked open. Shao Lung entered first, but stopped cold just within the entrance. Like something out of his worst nightmares a gigantic demon of brightly painted stone glared down at him. In its hands it held a huge curved sword that looked ready to slice him in half.   
  


Britt's low whistle broke his trance. "Wow, this must be some kind of secret sanctuary for the monastery."   
  


"This is a sacred place," Shao Lung whispered, not wishing to disturb the forbidding silence. He saw Britt pull out some matches that had been waterproofed by imbedding in wax. "We should not be here," he said uneasily.   
  


Britt scraped some wax free from the tip of the match and reached for a torch set into the wall. "We have no choice. Besides Master Sung wouldn't have shown us the way if we shouldn't be here." He lit the torch. "This place must go on forever," he commented, peering into the depths of the cavern. "Have you ever heard of this place before?"   
  


"No. Probably only the elders knew about it."   
  


"So you don't think Chin knew about it."   
  


"I doubt it. I don't think he was much trusted after returning to the monastery.   
  


"Good."   
  


"Why?" Shao Lung asked, puzzled. "Chin is dead. We are safe now."   
  


"Maybe. But I'm worried about what he might have told his friends in the village."   
  


"Why?"   
  


"It's obvious he told them about us. He probably thought that the authorities would come and get us and then he would have us out of his life and probably have some kind of big reward for it in the bargain."   
  


"You must be wrong. He would have never betrayed the monastery like that. True he hated the two of us, but he was part of the temple. I don't think he would have had a hand in its destruction. Remember, he called Master Sung a traitor. It sounds like he thought Master Sung was responsible for the attack."   
  


"No. I don't think so," Britt said. "I think he held Master Sung responsible for allowing us to stay at the temple. I think his buddies in the village pulled a double cross on him. They probably thought it would be a good way to destroy the monastery, which is an insult to their Communist beliefs, and get us out of there without leaving anybody alive who might know about us. Which brings me to the question. Why are you so important? They could use me in some kind of trade or blackmail, but you - Why are you so important to them?"   
  


"I can't tell you. I was forbidden to tell anyone, even you."   
  


"Master Sung said you could tell my father. Why can't you tell me? I would like to know why those people back there had to die. I'd like to know what I'm against," Britt insisted.   
  


Shao Lung sadly shook his head. "I am sorry, but I still can't tell you. I must do as I was ordered. You need not worry. As soon as I see you returned to your own people, I will leave."   
  


"That's not what Master Sung wanted."   
  


"I know, but I have been responsible for too many deaths already. It is safer for you if we separate after you are well on your way out of China."   
  


"You're mighty selective about what orders you will and will not obey," Britt remarked wryly.   
  


"I am doing this for your sake and for the sake of everyone else. I am cursed. I have been cursed from the day I was born. My mother died bearing me. The missionary who raised me and his family barely escaped with their lives when the Communists came to power. Now the monastery is destroyed and all the monks are dead, including Master Sung. Every life I have touched has been destroyed. I don't want to destroy yours as well."   
  


"You've just had a run of bad luck. There is no such thing as curses. That's just a bunch of superstition."   
  


Shao Lung snorted derisively. "Like all Westerners, you dismiss something as superstition because you don't understand it. You can't feel it, you can't weigh it, you can't measure it with your instruments so you call it superstition. There are things in this world that are beyond human knowledge, but they are real, even though they can't be known by Western methods. How do you think you lifted that stone? You could not possibly have lifted it, but you did. You found something in yourself and used it to free me. Something that cannot be measured, or experimented with, but yet it still exists."   
  


"Yeah, well, people have been known to do things like that under a lot of stress. That's all that I did. Nothing more. There's nothing supernatural about it."   
  


"Of course, it's not supernatural. I never claimed that it was, but logically speaking what you did was impossible, and yet you did do it. I saw how you were. You weren't panicking. You were calm and under control. You drew something out of yourself and you lifted that rock. You did it consciously. You willed yourself to do it. I challenge you to explain it according to your Western logic."   
  


"Maybe you're right about some things, but that still doesn't mean that curses are real. You can't make me believe that you are cursed. I'm still going to see that you come to the States with me. That's what you said that you wanted and that's what Master Sung wanted. By the way isn't there some kind of tradition about serving someone after he's saved your life?"   
  


"There is, but I warn you, don't try to hold me to it. You'll come to regret it." 

"If that's the only way I can get you to come with me, I will hold you to it."   
  


Shao Lung shook his head. "You're a fool. Some day in the future you will wish you had left me here in China."   
  


Britt smiled ruefully. He opened the knapsack and pulled out some food. "My father always said I didn't have a lick of sense," he said offering some of the food to Shao Lung.   
  


"Your father was right," Shao Lung agreed, refusing the food with a shake of his head.   
  


"You should eat something," Britt said, "You got to save your strength. We have a long way ahead of us."   
  


"I'm not hungry."   
  


"Have it your way," Britt said as Shao Lung huddled against the cold rock wall, his slight shoulders bowed beneath his soot-darkened robes. Above his head, devout worshipers danced in a tropical paradise, the colors of the ancient painting still luridly bright.   
  


Britt gazed curiously about him. Then he noticed a red silken cord disappearing into the cavern's depths. "Stay here," he said pointing out the cord, "I'm going to check that out."   
  


Shao Lung raised his head, "Don't. It could be dangerous. There might be traps to kill trespassers."   
  


Britt shook his head, "That cord looks recent. Maybe it's meant as a guide to a way out of here."   
  


"Don't go!" Shao Lung said uselessly as Britt lit another torch and disappeared into the darkness. He shook his head at the American's stubbornness, stood up, picked up the knapsack and followed him.   
  


The cavern was a maze of galleries filled with sacred carvings and paintings done by generations of devout artisans. The most ancient works bore the brilliant colors and sensually lithe figures of Buddhism's Indian origins, while the later works were the more subtle shades and forms of a mature Chinese style.   
  


Other rooms contained intricately carved wooden chests and wardrobes. Intrigued by what they might contain, Britt lifted the lid of one and found inside heavy silk robes that were heavily embroidered in fanciful designs of dragons and wild creatures of the forests. Shao Lung grabbed his arm, when he reached to open another chest, "Don't touch these things," he cautioned, "It is enough that we are in here at all. It is not right to disturb these things."   
  


Britt's eyes burned with excitement. "This stuff could've belonged to royalty. There might be gold here or jewels. Just think of what might have been stashed here for centuries."   
  


"Anything here of great value will be protected. There will be ways to stop the greedy from taking those things."   
  


Britt pulled his arm free. "I'm not being greedy. I'm not just interested in whether it's valuable. Just think of the historical importance of this stuff. I know people who would give their eyeteeth to be in our shoes right now."   
  


Shao Lung reached again for Britt as he strode for a black lacquered wardrobe. A low hiss and Britt turned barely in time to see a red-tasseled lance shoot out of a far wall, aiming for Shao Lung's heart. Britt tackled him scant moments before the shining tip found its mark.   
  


Shao Lung stared at the black shaft harmlessly lying beside him, "Again, you have saved my life. Thank you."   
  


"Yeah. Except this time it was my fault. My stupidity almost killed you. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you," Britt said, helping Shao Lung to his feet. "Am I forgiven?" he asked.   
  


Shao Lung smiled. "Yes, but this time, no more side trips. I want to get out of here as soon as possible."   
  


Britt agreed and they continued to follow the red cord until they came to a blank wall. "Another hidden door, I bet," Britt said, searching for a way to open it.   
  


Shao Lung nodded his agreement. "You're right, and here," he said, bending down to pick up a bundle laying against the wall, "Are some clothes and some more food. And," he added, "Some gold and silver coins," as he sifted glittering coins in the torchlight.   
  


Morning found the two young men shuffling through the thick yellow dust of an old dirt road along the broad muddy river that still frothed violently with the flood waters from the previous night's thunderstorm. "How much further until we get to the next village?" Britt asked as Shao Lung consulted the map that Master Sung had placed in the knapsack.   
  


"According to this map, we may reach the next village by nightfall, that is if it is still there. This is a very old map." Shao Lung gazed critically at Britt appearance. "I'm afraid that even with those clothes Master Sung packed, you will still attract too much attention. You are far too tall and your eyes and complexion will not allow you to pass as Chinese."   
  


Britt kicked up some of the dirt with his foot, "You're right, but maybe if I'm really dirty and hunch over a bit maybe people won't notice."   
  


"And if you pull the cap way down and keep your eyes lowered maybe they won't be noticed either. But if you do all that, you will be noticed anyway because you are acting strangely." 

"Whatever I do, I'll attract attention we don't want," Britt agreed. "I don't have any idea of what to do. At least now that your hair is growing out you won't be connected with the monastery."   
  


Shao Lung replaced the map and looked down the road. "We have a long way to go. We better get going."   
  


"Yeah," Britt agreed as he slung the knapsack over his shoulder.   
  


As Shao Lung predicted, they reached the village just as the sun began sinking below the horizon. A very ancient town, old even in the days of the emperors, it was much larger than most of the tiny hamlets Britt and Shao Lung had bypassed on their journey away from the doomed monastery. It was one of the few good fording points across the great river, and since time immemorial it had been an important crossroads for travelers and the major marketplace for the farmers of the region. Unlike the poor farming villages its narrow twisting streets were full of bustling activity as grain laden ox carts threaded their way to the docks along the river.   
  


They wandered along the streets until Britt spotted a long line of men busy loading an old rusting hulk of a barge. "That's our key out of here," he said.   
  


"How is that?" Shao Lung asked.   
  


"We'll just join that work gang and when the barge leaves, we'll be on board. It should be a snap."   
  


Shao Lung looked side wise at Britt, wondering how many of the tall American's plans turned out as they were supposed to.   
  


With the heavy bales on their backs, the two young men melted easily into the long line of workmen. Throughout the night they worked, waiting until the ship was nearly full. "We'll hide behind those boxes until the barge leaves port," Britt said.   
  


"And then what will we do?" Shao Lung asked skeptically.   
  


"When the barge gets to the mouth of the river, we'll find a way to get south to Hong Kong or maybe north to South Korea."   
  


Shao Lung stared at Britt in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how we will do that?"   
  


"No, but when the time comes, I'm sure something will come up," Britt said confidently.   
  


Settled into the narrow niche they had built from a clever arrangement of boxes and bales of grain, they quickly fell into a deep sleep and were barely aware of when the barge weighted anchor and began its slow way down the river. The barge's gentle wallowing sway rocked them into a deep dreamless slumber, until they were jerked awake by a bright light, and a gruff voice. Kicking the boxes away from around the two young men, a large man lifted Shao Lung up and threw him against the bulkhead.   
  


Britt rose to his feet and rammed his fist into the man's soft belly. Shoving him against the bulkhead near where the stunned Shao Lung was gathering his feet beneath him. "Tell the bastard I want to see the captain," Britt gritted through clenched teeth to Shao Lung, as he locked his hapless prisoner with an icy glare, banging the man's head against the bulkhead a few times to make his point. Surprised by Britt's sudden change in temperament, Shao Lung rapidly did as he was told.   
  


Captain Chou stared open mouthed at the tall man that his first mate escorted into his cramped cabin. He was obviously a foreigner, but he had never seen such a one as him. Despite his filthy clothes and stubbled beard he carried himself proudly, with more authority than suited one so young. He tried to avoid the young man's unnaturally pale eyes, but was as compelled to look into them like a helpless bird caught by the malevolent gaze of a cobra. Mentally he fumbled through his memory for an old charm against the evil eye that his grandmother had taught him. He barely noticed the young Chinese who quickly interpreted the round eye's words. "We want passage on this miserable ship of yours. It is not for you to ask us our reasons for it is none of your business," he said arrogantly.   
  


"But the authorities, if they find out, I will be executed," the captain protested.   
  


"They will not find out if no one tells them," Shao Lung translated as Britt dug into the knapsack and drew out several large, heavy silver coins. "This is half of your payment. You will get the rest when you deliver us to where we want to go. Where is your ship heading?"   
  


"Jinan is our final destination. It will take us several days to get there. We have many stops to make along the way," Captain Chou answered, hungrily eyeing the gleaming coins in the tall one's hand.   
  


"Good, then we will pay you to continue on past Jinan until you reach the mouth of the river. We will leave your ship then and pay you the rest of the money at that time. It is in your best interest that you do not betray us. If you do, we will tell the authorities that you offered to give us passage for payment. Are you willing to gamble that they won't believe us? Now, you will instruct your people to leave us alone. My companion here, will take care of our needs," Britt ordered through Shao Lung, "And you will give him whatever we need."   
  


The captain bowed his obedience as Britt handed him the coins. His eyes eagerly measured their worth as they clinked into his open palm. They were enough to fully repair his ship. The total promised amount would be more than enough to buy another, or better yet buy him easy passage out of this damnable communism that he had been trapped into. He had also caught the gleam of gold sparkling deep in the tall one's satchel. The captain knew that neither man would be able to remain awake all the time. Sometime they would both have to rest and then he would see that these stowaways feed the fishes. After, of course, he had separated them from their money.   
  


Shao Lung angrily turned to Britt when they were alone in the small space in the hold that had been hastily cleared for them. "I don't like the way you took over. You have no right treating me like I was some kind of servant. I could have taken that man without your interference."   
  


"And then what would you have done with him?" Britt argued. "He's the First Mate. He would've been missed sooner or later."   
  


Shao Lung shrugged. "I don't know, but how can you be so naive? You know we can't trust that captain. Even now, I know he is thinking of a way to kill us and take our money."   
  


"I know that. That's why we can't ever let our guard down."   
  


"It's going to be a very long trip. I don't think we will be able to last that long. The captain and his entire crew will be waiting for any chance to overcome us."   
  


"That's the chance we will have to take. I don't like it any more than you do," Britt admitted.   
  


"Promise me one thing then."   
  


"What?"   
  


"The First Mate. I want him."   
  


"He's yours."   
  


Captain Chou patiently bided his time for several days. Trying to allay any suspicions that his unexpected guests might have, he frequently went out of his way to see that they were made comfortable and lacked nothing. Early in the morning they would be coming into the port at Jinan, so the night before he called his First Mate and some of his more bloodthirsty crewmen into his cabin. "Did the round eye and his dog see you come in here?" he asked the First Mate.   
  


The First Mate grinned a rotten gap-toothed smile. "No. They are too busy eating our rice to notice anything."   
  


"Good. Then we will be upon them before they are even aware what is happening." He noted with approval the deadly sharpness of the machetes that the First Mate and his men were caressing. His 'passengers' might be formidable hand to hand fighters, but asleep and unarmed they would be easy game. Soon, very soon, the gold and silver in the tall one's pack would be his as well as any kind of reward those communist bureaucrats might deign to give him.   
  


The captain and his crew crept across the barge's heavily loaded deck. The sky was pitch black and a fierce wind snatched at their clothing. A jagged bolt of lighting knifed across the sky, a herald of the coming storm. Already the ungainly barge was starting to lurch back and forth upon the wind-driven waves. The captain thought for a moment about returning to the wheelhouse, and leaving his men to do the dirty work alone, but he did not trust them. Far too easily they could take most of the money and leave him with only a small fraction. Although they had sailed many times together, he could not trust them not to betray him or even decide to kill him as well as the strangers.   
  


The hold was not completely dark as a sputtering oil lamp that swayed with the ship's slow rocking filled the area with a dim, fitful light. The captain halted his crew and signaled for silence. He motioned toward the two forms wrapped in thin blankets laying on the floor. "The fools," the captain said to himself. As he had expected the two had become careless and both were soundly asleep. With blood curdling screams the captain and his men charged upon the two forms and began fiercely hacking at them. Suddenly behind them issued a strange unearthly yell.   
  


Shao Lung flew into them and disarmed one after another with flying feet and deadly fists before they could make a move. One man charged Shao Lung from behind with a raised machete but before he could bring it down, Britt had wrapped his forearm around his neck in an iron grip. He lifted the man into the air until he lost consciousness and then threw his aside like an old rag doll. Back to back Britt and Shao Lung fought using stout poles to fend off the deadly machetes that slashed through the air toward their heads, legs or anything else that might be exposed.   
  


Shao Lung's pole was sliced in half from a powerful stroke by the First Mate, but instead of being at a disadvantage, Shao Lung swung and flashed the two halves, turning them into impromptu nunchaku. He knocked the machete from the First Mate's hands with a numbing force and then smashed his head with a single powerful blow. Shao Lung leaped over the First Mate's body, ready for further battle, but found no one else to fight.   
  


Filled with the hot flush of victory, Shao Lung walked to Britt who held the captain captive with his back against some bales of grain. Britt grimly looked at the bloodied skull of the First Mate. "Did you have to kill him?" he asked.   
  


"Of course. He was trying to kill me." Shao Lung said, surprised by Britt's disapproval. They had been in a battle for their lives and yet Britt expected him to try to preserve the lives of those who had planned to kill them in their sleep.   
  


"I guess you couldn't help killing him. It's just that I don't feel right about killing somebody. Even if he was a no-good bastard." Britt admitted, unable to fully explain what he felt. "Tell the captain here that he had forfeited his payment. From now on the ship is ours. If he wishes to live, he had better cooperate."   
  


With the grudging aid of the captain and those of his men who had not been killed in the fight, Britt and Shao Lung guided the barge past the port of Jinan with its running lights darkened. "Captain, do you know if there are patrol boats past Jinan?" Britt asked the sullen captain through Shao Lung.   
  


Captain Chou hesitated, considering the value of lying, but a quick slash of Shao Lung's hand stopping just a fraction away from his throat convinced him to tell the truth. "As you come closer to the river's mouth, the patrol boats become as thick as flies. You will not escape them. Give me back my ship and I will leave you on the river's bank. Perhaps if you are very lucky, you will find another way out of China."   
  


Britt sat uneasily on the barge's deck. They had shut the barge's engines down in an effort to escape the Chinese army patrol boats and were floating along with the river's current. A thick fog had floated in with the first rays of the new morning. It covered the river and the ship like a heavy, damp blanket. From his vantage point he could barely see the barge's bow. The trees along the banks were ghostly forms barely visible from the ship. The fog muted all sounds. All he could hear was the quiet slapping of the waves against the ship's sides as it floated soundlessly with the river's current.   
  


Shao Lung softly cleared his throat as he came up beside Britt. "I don't like this. I can't see anything. We could be lost and never know it."   
  


Not wanting to break the oppressive silence, Britt whispered, "Don't worry about getting lost. We're riding with the current and there's only one way to go and that's straight to the ocean, exactly where we want to go. Besides this fog is a lucky break for us. All night we've been able to elude patrol boats, and now with this fog we will be covered until late in the morning. By then we should be well out to sea."   
  


Shao Lung remained unconvinced. "Maybe you're right, but it still bothers me," he said, rubbing his arms with his hands against the damp chill.   
  


A low throbbing noise caught Britt's attention. He impatiently motioned for silence, trying to isolate the sound's source. As he stood listening as crewman appeared out of the mist. Shao Lung listened closely to the agitated man. Alarmed, he quickly translated, "He says that a ship is approaching us. It's moving very fast and is directly in our way."   
  


Britt swore. "It's probably a patrol boat. In this fog it won't be able to see us until it's too late. There's no time for us to get the engines going for us to get out of its way." His eyes narrowed as he thought of their options. "We're going to have to abandon ship. Get the men organized and get them on board the lifeboat. I'll meet you there after I pick up some things from the cabin."   
  


"I'll go with you."   
  


"No. You have to get the crew to safety. You're the only one who can do that."   
  


"Then forget your things. They can be replaced."   
  


"I'm not leaving my journal. I've put too much work into it for it to wind up on the bottom of the river," Britt insisted. "Now get going. I'll be with you as soon as I can."   
  


Britt watched Shao Lung for a moment as he disappeared into the fog and then moved toward the captain's cabin. He and Shao Lung had taken it for their own when they had taken over the ship. Although it was cramped and stank of stale cigarette smoke and sweat, it had been better than the hole they had occupied below decks. Britt almost reached the door when a terrible shudder shook the ancient barge. Britt glanced toward the bow and saw a massive flame piercing the grey cloud that surrounded them. He momentarily considered leaving his things behind but decided against it.   
  


Suddenly the ship tilted starboard violently, flinging Britt against the opposite bulkhead. He pulled himself to his feet and scrambled for the backpack laying on the bed. Again the dying ship tilted crazily, forcefully throwing Britt against the other bulkhead, banging his head against the tarnished brass rim of the cabin's lone porthole. Britt painfully shook his head trying to see through the fog that seemed to have invaded the cabin. He touched his fingers to the back of his head and gazed uncomprehendingly at the sticky wetness on his fingertips. Blinking his eyes in confusion, Britt forced disobedient legs to carry him out onto the deck.   
  


His entire world shrank into a maelstrom of flame and fog on a deck that rocked and tipped like a funhouse floor that threatened to upset his delicate balance. A slightly familiar face appeared before him, but he couldn't remember the name to attach to it. The person's voice seemed to echo and reverberate down a long tunnel, "Everybody's off. It's time for you to leave now."   
  


"My things . . . " Britt said thickly.   
  


"I have them. They're safe. It's time to go," said the voice beneath concerned black eyes. Britt nodded agreement and flinched at the pain the movement caused.   
  


Britt slowly opened his eyes and found himself on a soft bed draped with crisp white sheets. "Dad!" he said in surprise, recognizing the worried middle-aged man sitting at the side of his bed.   
  


Henry Reid smiled gently. "Good morning Sleeping Beauty. I'm glad to see that you've decided to rejoin the living," he said wryly.   
  


Britt bolted upright. Had it all been a dream, he wondered. Were all his adventures just the workings of a fevered mind? "Where am I? What's happened?"   
  


"You're in an American hospital in Korea. You were fished out of the ocean a few days ago," Henry Reid answered as he firmly pressed his son back down.   
  


"Then it did all happen," Britt said quietly. "Shao Lung, did he make it?"   
  


"Yes. He made it and so did the crewmen of that barge you boys commandeered. The Red Chinese are demanding the crewmen's return, claiming that you and your friend kidnaped them. They also want you two sent back to that you can be properly punished for your 'crimes'. I don't think the crewmen want to return and we don't have any intention of forcing them to. As for your punishment, that's another matter."   
  


Britt sighed wearily. Here it comes, he thought. Maybe he should have stayed in China. "I'm sorry Dad. I know I caused you a lot of trouble."   
  


Henry frowned. "Britt, you have no idea of just how much trouble you've caused. Your disappearance caused a major international incident. We were lucky that the Reds decided just to kick us out instead of shooting us as spies. Because of your little escapade they have permanently shut the door to the West. Right now, the Bamboo Curtain is closed as tightly as a miser's fist," he said angrily.   
  


"I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know what I can say or do to make up for what I did. Maybe someday you'll manage to forgive me," Britt said miserably.   
  


Henry looked at his hands for a moment, trying to avoid the pain in his son's eyes. His first impulse when Britt had woken up was to hug him tightly, to tell him how much he loved him, but he had decided that the boy had to know how much trouble his foolish actions had caused. He needed to be taught a lesson. He looked at his son. He was dark, like his mother and had her uncanny aqua-grey eyes. He was so much like her, headstrong, given to acting without consideration of the consequences, especially to himself. The boy had it in him to become a great man, perhaps even greater than himself, but he wouldn't amount to anything if he didn't learn some caution, if he didn't learn to think before he did something. Damn, Henry thought, he's my only child. What am I going to do with him?   
  


"There's nothing you can do to make up for what you've done, Britt." Britt's shoulders drooped even more at his father's gentle words. "You're my son and that's the most important thing. I thought I had lost you for good." Henry's voice broke for a moment. He grasped Britt's shoulders. "Thank God you're safe," he said overcome with relief.   
  


The soft scrape of feet broke the embarrassed silence between father and son. "Come in young man. Britt's doing fine now," Henry said, acknowledging the newcomer's presence. "Your young friend has been waiting for you to wake up."   
  


"I owe you my life, Shao Lung. If it hadn't been for you, I might be dead now," Britt said thankfully.   
  


"No thanks are necessary. You would have done the same thing. I must tell you though that Shao Lung no longer exists."   
  


"I don't understand," Britt said, puzzled.   
  


"You stirred up quite a hornet's nest Britt, when you brought this young man out of China. The Reds want him very badly, so we had to give him a new identity," the elder Reid explained.   
  


"Yes. I am now Kato, the valet you hired in Hong Kong."   
  


"Kato? Isn't that a Japanese name?"   
  


Henry smiled. "Yes it is. We hope that will further confuse the Reds who will be looking for a young Chinese. Someone else bearing Shao Lung's name will be going to Taiwan, in order to leave a false trail, while we head back home. I don't know if that will work for very long, so the sooner we get back to the States the better. Do you feel strong enough to travel?"   
  


"I feel fine. But Shao Lung, uh, Kato," Britt quickly corrected himself. "You don't have to be a valet. I'm sure they can think of a better cover besides that of a servant. I know I forced you to come with me because I saved your life, but we're even now. You're free to live your own life, whatever way you chose to."   
  


"I have already discussed it with your father and this is what I want." Kato raised his hand when Britt started to protest. "Please, I am doing this because this is what I want. Perhaps later I may want to do something else, but considering our experiences the last few days, I don't think I ever will. I wanted some excitement, some useful way to use my skill in gung fu and from what your father has told me, I will have plenty of chances to do so."   
  


  
  


Returning to the present, Britt sighed deeply as he rubbed his eyes. The exhaustion that he had been fighting was starting to overtake him. Lee watched the traffic in silence for a few moments, trying to absorb all that he had been told. Finally he spoke, "So you never found why my father was so important to the Red Chinese."   
  


"No. I never did find out. After my father died, I went through all his papers, mainly trying to find anything that would help me run the Sentinel, but I didn't see anything that had to do with Kato. One thing though, a short time after Mao Tse Tung died, sometime in the 70's, a pair of very official Chinese guys came into my office demanding that I tell them where Kato was. To think of it, they did refer to him as Kato, and not by the name he was known by in China. Of course, I told them I hadn't heard from him in years and had no interest in hearing from him either. They tried to talk tough to scare the 'truth' from me and I had to physically throw them out. I never knew why they wanted to find him and to tell you the truth, I didn't really care. I'm sorry. I should have dug a little deeper and found out why they wanted him."   
  


"So my roots will always remain a mystery," Lee said unhappily.   
  


"Maybe. Maybe not. If you're lucky enough to get into China during one of those times the government decides to allow foreigners in, perhaps you can find out something more." Britt thought for a moment. "John's working as a foreign correspondent for the Sentinel. Perhaps he might enjoy an assignment there. Say, trying to find out what happened to the Shao lin temple. He'll need an interpreter, of course. Do you speak Chinese?"   
  


"Very well," Lee said, instantly brightening.   
  


"Good. Well, we shall see what the future brings."   
  



	4. Plans

Chapter Four   
  


Plans   
  


I   
  
  
  


  
  


Through the bedroom window Casey watched as the first rays of the sun peeking over the rolling hills that surrounded Valley Grove slowly faded away the moon's pale image. Somewhere off in the distance a rooster crowed its salute to the rising sun and a horse whickered for its morning oats. Below her window the busy twittering of sparrows had replaced the preoccupied chik-chik of the crickets. Usually this was her favorite time of the morning when the slowly awakening world was washed in a watercolor of soft morning mist but she had not slept a wink the last few days. When Britt was away, their bed always seemed to be so big and cold. It was always worse when he was involved in something dangerous. Then every time the phone rang, or there was a knock on the door, she felt a cold fear that this time there would be bad news. That Britt would not be coming back.   
  


Even after so many years she still had not fully come to terms with the fascination that danger held for him. She repeatedly told herself that it was what made him the type of man he was. It was as much a part of his makeup as it was for a race car driver or a mountain climber. He would not be the same man if he did not possess that daring, that lack of fear for his own safety, but she still worried, fearing that someday he would not return to her.   
  


A heavy cloud of dust swirling up into the air caught her eye. Holding her breath she watched, trying to catch sight of the vehicle as it passed between the huge trees lining the dirt road leading to the house. She hurriedly threw on a robe as she called to the stableman's quarters. "Fred, Britt's home. Get your son up so that the two of you can take care of the horses as soon as they pull up to the stables," she ordered hurriedly.   
  


By the time she reached the stables behind the house Britt was already busy supervising the unloading of the horses. Before he turned around she could already see that he was exhausted and hurting. His broad shoulders bowed as he leaned heavily on the truck's fender. When he turned to greet her, she was shocked to see how deeply the weariness was etched in his face. He was not even trying to hide it, frightening her even more. She ran to him through the dew dampened grass, and gave him a passionate welcome back kiss and hug. "How do you feel, dear?" she asked.   
  


"I'll feel a lot better after I get some rest," he admitted tiredly.   
  


"Fred, please help me get Britt into the house," she called to the stableman.   
  


Lee came out of the stables, "I'll give you a hand, Mrs. Reid," he volunteered.   
  


"No, young man, you're in no better shape than he is. When's the last time you two have eaten or gotten some rest?" she demanded.   
  


Lee shrugged. "I don't know. What day is this?"   
  


"Men," she sighed. "You get so caught up in what you're doing, you never think of taking care of yourselves. Lee, you go on ahead and get something to eat and then I want you to get right to bed," she ordered like he was one of her own children.   
  


"But . . . " Lee began, turning to Britt for support.   
  


Britt smiled, shaking his head. "Do as she says. Right now, she's the boss."   
  
  
  


After checking upon Lee, Casey passed by the kitchen on the way to her and Britt's bedroom. She heard the clattering of pans and banging of cabinet doors. "I thought you were going to take a shower," she said to Britt who was busy setting up the coffee maker.   
  


"I thought I had better get a cup of coffee first. Otherwise I'll fall asleep in the shower and drown."   
  


She gazed lovingly at him for a moment. Then she impulsively hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad that you're home," she said burying her face against his warm chest. He smelled of sour sweat, dirty leather and horses, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was home in one piece. She felt safe and secure surrounded in his strong arms and the terrible emptiness inside her slipped away as she bathed in the warmth of his love. He gently lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. She suddenly felt as shy as a schoolgirl on her first date. His eyes, neither blue nor green yet both at the same time, seemed to look into her very soul. She flushed at the intensity of his gaze and felt her body respond to his unspoken passion.   
  


The hissing of water splattering on the empty hotplate of the coffee maker broke the magic of their embrace. "Oh dear!" Casey said, slipping from Britt's arms and pulling some paper towels off the roller.   
  


Britt grabbed a towel and began helping her sop up the hot water that flooded the counter. "I couldn't find the coffee and when you came in, I, uh, had other things on my mind," he remarked wryly.   
  


Casey pulled the towel from his hands. "Why don't you sit while I take care of everything?" she ordered, pushing his toward the kitchen table.   
  


After cleaning up the mess and making a fresh pot of coffee, she brought a mug of coffee to Britt as he sat at the table with his left leg propped up on the chair opposite him. "Feels good," he murmured appreciatively over the steaming cup of coffee as she began to rub the kinks out of his neck and shoulders.   
  


"You shouldn't drink too much of that," she advised lovingly. "You'll never get to sleep."   
  


Britt glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I'm already running late. I'll barely have enough time for a shave and shower as it is." He ran his fingers through his shaggy mop of grey hair. "I've got so much to do I won't even have time to get a hair cut."   
  


"You'll have plenty of time to do that. I've canceled all your appointments for the next few days and I've set it up with that political scientist from the university, Dr. Rich, to write a few editorials on the presidential race. So you see, you have plenty of time to get some rest. And a haircut," she said.   
  


"I don't need that much of a rest. There's too much I have to do at the Sentinel."   
  


"Well, then, after you wake up, you can call Lowrey and tell him what needs to be done, "she suggested. 

"Can't do that. We've uncovered something I want to look into myself. I have to get to the Sentinel as soon as I can."   
  


She sat down beside him and stole a quick sip from his mug, grimacing at the strong, black coffee. "What did you find out?" she asked.   
  


"I'm not absolutely sure yet, but this much I do know. Senator de la Culebra's brother-in-law is in it up to his scrawny neck. The destination of one of those helicopters Lowrey spotted is a hidden marijuana plantation. There's probably more than one up there, considering the number of copters he saw. Miles was there and some kind of South American Military officer as well. I suspect the money they make from selling the marijuana is used to buy guns for this South American, who may in turn, be paying for them with cocaine or the with money made from the selling of it perhaps. I might be making this more complex that it really is. I'm not sure. That's something I'm going to have to find out."   
  


"Do you think the Senator is involved?"   
  


"I don't know, but I do know that Miles is too stupid and incompetent to head an operation as big as this one."   
  


Casey felt a chill run through her, wondering how deeply Britt was planning on involving himself. "I've heard that de la Culebra can be a very vicious opponent; that he's destroyed anyone who's ever stood in his way," she said.   
  


Britt shrugged unconcernedly. "He can be. He's also very popular and has a very strong and wide base of support. He's a shoe-in for the Presidency. He plays the media like a violin, with everybody fawning at his feet for the slightest tidbit of news," he said disgustedly.   
  


"Everybody but the Sentinel."   
  


"Right. And that put us on his shit list already."   
  


"He's even more mad at us now that I've canceled the appointment he made for this morning," Casey mentioned.   
  


Britt snorted with amusement. "I'll bet that made him real happy that a mere newspaper editor canceled an audience with his 'holiness'."   
  


"He was livid."   
  


"Good," Britt said. "But I do want you to set up another one with him, but at a time that's convenient for us, not him. The more we can throw him off balance the better."   
  


"Britt, what if he starts looking into your past. What is he finds out . . . ?"   
  


"He won't," Britt said firmly. "Too many years have gone by. I've covered my tracks completely. There's nothing he can dig up that can connect me with the Green Hornet. But even if he could, it won't stop me. If he's as dirty as I think he is, I intend to do everything in my power to stop him from winning the White House. Even if it means losing everything including the Sentinel."   
  


Britt's grim determination frightened Casey. She wondered how far was he truly willing to go. Trying to change the subject, she patted his hand solicitously. "That can all wait until you've had a good rest."   
  


"I don't need any rest," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I've gone a lot longer than this before," he protested angrily.   
  


"That was a long time ago. You were a lot younger than," she gently reminded him, knowing immediately that she had said the wrong thing.   
  


"Yeah. A lot younger and I wasn't lame either. Now all I am is a crippled old man. I'm not any good to anybody. Not even to myself," he said bitterly. "Maybe I should stop trying to play a young man's game."   
  


"What happened?"   
  


"Nothing much, except my leg chose to give out at the wrong time and the wrong place," he growled. "Could've gotten us killed." He slammed a fist into his bad leg. "Damn! I'm getting too old and slow to be in the field, investigating things personally. I should've been smart enough to realize that and sent Lowrey instead. Even if he doesn't like horses."   
  


"Britt," she said tenderly, trying to soothe his sudden anger. "You're tired now. And you have every right to be. Any man half your age, less even would have dropped from sheer exhaustion by now. Why, Lee was asleep before he even hit his bed. He probably won't be getting up until well past noon. And knowing how you are, I'll bet you did the lion's share of the driving home while he slept. As for when you were younger. I remember there were quite a few times when you fell asleep at your desk after chasing around the city all night," she said forcefully.   
  


"I'm not the same man you married . . . " he began wearily.   
  


"Oh yes, you are, Britt Reid. You're still the most mule-headed, prideful man I've ever known. Sometimes you can be so exasperating. Especially when you get tired like this." Her voice softened, "I remember our wedding. I felt so proud when you pulled yourself out of that wheelchair as I came down the aisle. Especially since 

most people didn't think you'd ever walk again."   
  


"I wasn't about to sit down at my own wedding." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me the truth. Did you marry me because you pitied me? Because I was a helpless invalid."   
  


"A helpless invalid? You were anything but helpless or pitiable," she said with a quick laugh. "I remember how the nurses first competed with each other for the chance to take care of the very handsome and very available Britt Reid, but by the time you finally left they were drawing straws to see who was going to suffocate you in your bed."   
  


"I wasn't that bad," he said defensively.   
  


"No, you were worse."   
  


"The bedpans were cold," he grumbled, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "Would you have married me if I hadn't been injured, if I had continued as the Green Hornet?" he asked thoughtfully.   
  


"Any time, anyplace. All you had to do was ask. Sometimes I was afraid about what you were doing. Afraid that I might lose you permanently. I loved you then as I love you now. As I always will. A moment of your love would've been better than not having it at all."   
  


"I guess I should've asked a lot earlier." He asked with a crooked grin, "You didn't much approve of the girls I dated, did you?"   
  


"Hated their guts. Each and every one of them," she admitted candidly. She impulsively gave him a big hug. "Ugh, you smell like a goat, you old goat. Why don't you get that shower like you said you were going to?" Giving his whiskers a playful tug, she added, "And while you're at it, get a shave too. That beard tickles when we kiss."   
  


"I don't know. I think it makes me look kind of distinguished," he said teasingly as he pulled her down into his arms.   
  


Casey had crawled into bed while Britt was taking his shower and was contentedly listening to the soft swooshing of the water and the other comforting noises of his nearness, when the tilting of the bed under his weight made her realize that she had fallen into a light doze. She could feel the cool dampness of his body through the thin silk of her nightgown as he pulled her close to him, enveloping her body with his own. She looked up at him and whispered, "I love you."   
  


There was no answer. He had already fallen into a deep sleep. She smiled and snuggled in more closely, happily closing her eyes. The bed was no longer cold or lonely.   
  
  
  
  
  


The following afternoon, Britt found Lee and Casey happily chatting away in the garage where they had parked the Black Beauty. Britt wrapped an arm around Casey's waist and playfully nuzzled her neck. Giggling, she said, "Good morning Sleepyhead. Or should I say, Good Afternoon?"   
  


"You could've gotten me us sooner, you know," he replied, taking a sip of reheated coffee from the mug in his other hand.   
  


"I didn't have the heart. You looked so peaceful laying there that I figured I'd just let you get up on your own." She patted his stomach. "Did you get anything to eat yet?"   
  


"Yeah. I ate a sandwich before I came down here." With a jaundiced eye he nodded at the mechanical and electrical parts that littered the floor. "Wouldn't it be easier to work on one thing at a time?" he asked Lee.   
  


"Uh, huh," Lee agreed. "It would, but every time I pulled something out, there was something connected to it and something connected to that and now I have more stuff on the floor than is in the car." Lee looked helplessly at the mess at his feet. "I don't see how you and my father got all this stuff in the car in the first place. There must be miles of wiring alone. I had no idea how I'm going to get it all back in." His shoulders drooped and he shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that even if I do get it all back in, the whole thing is going to blow up in my face."   
  


Britt stole a quick look at Casey and gave her a wink. "Well, let me get you some work clothes and I'll give you a hand. I'll also get you something that'll be a big help."   
  


"What? I have all the tools and spare parts I could find in that cabinet hidden behind the wall."   
  


"You forgot the most important thing . . . the plans."   
  


Lee's face lit up. "You still have them?"   
  


"Of course."   
  
  
  


The rest of the day and well into the evening Britt and Lee were completely immersed in the repair of the big car. Occasionally Casey floated in and out of the garage keeping them supplied with food and drink. Sometimes she would just sit and watch approvingly at they worked together. She fondly remembered how often Britt and Kato would work amiably side by side, developing some new gadget for the Black Beauty or just performing some simple maintenance.   
  


Perhaps Lee's intrusion into their lives would be a good thing after all. For the first time in years Britt was talking about his past as the Green Hornet. Lee's open admiration was something he had needed for a long time. Even when Mike Axford told his Green Hornet stories to the twins, Britt remained silent, refusing to defend the Hornet, allowing his children to grow up believing that the Green Hornet was a monstrous master criminal. Casey wondered how they would react if they ever found out the truth, that their father was the Green Hornet. Even though he had chosen to remain silent about the Hornet, Casey knew that Britt needed to know that someone appreciated the work he had done, about the sacrifices he had been forced to make.   
  


Lee pulled himself from under the car and rubbed the grease from his face and hands with the towel Casey handed him. "You know she's not in as bad a shape as I thought," he remarked.   
  


"They built her to last," Casey said. "Didn't you, Britt?"   
  


"Sure did," Britt answered, lifting his head from under the long hood. "Had to, considering all the punishment we put it through. Otherwise, it would've fallen apart a long time ago."   
  


"Just like that first car you used," Casey said.   
  


"First car?" Lee said, surprised. "I thought the Black Beauty was the only car you ever used."   
  


"Nope. We used a regular car at first, but after it was shot up by a bunch of thugs we were chasing, we decided that we needed something else. Something that was not only fast, but bulletproof and armed. We also need something big to fit everything we wanted to in it. The new Imperial limousine that my father had ordered just before he was framed, fit the bill perfectly. In a way it was fitting that my father's dream car was used against the very people who destroyed him.   
  


"To make it bulletproof we molded a carbon fiber fabric that a friend of mine who used to work for some chemical company gave me, over the original steel body. That made it a lot lighter than if we had used any other kind of armor. That same friends also gave us the material to make the tires bulletproof. We had to rework the grill to fit in the rocket pods, that's why it's shaped the way it is." Britt wiped a stray bit of grease from the engine. "And to power it all, a 455 cubic inch turbo charged V8 that could be silenced on command or boosted to get a bit of extra power over a short distance."   
  


"It took us a lot of work and trial and error, but I think the Black Beauty turned out pretty good. We turned an ordinary luxury car into a rolling arsenal and during those few short years it certainly fulfilled its purpose."   
  


"She's also what gave the Green Hornet his name," Casey added.   
  


"How did that happen?" Lee asked.   
  


"Well, actually, Mike Axford's responsible for that," Britt said. "But the Black Beauty did inspire him. When I first became the Green Hornet, it was in the middle of winter, so I wore a long overcoat, which just happened to be dark green, a matching hat and a silk muffler. To hide my identity I first wore a green Halloween mask that I had picked up for some masquerade party. I couldn't see out of that thing worth a damn, but when Casey joined our little group, she fixed that by making masks for us that fitted a lot better. But anyway, before we began using the Black Beauty, I was called the Man in Green by the press. On the Black Beauty's first day out everything worked perfectly, except for one thing. We were passing by police headquarters when Mike was walking out with some of his cop buddies and just to attract some attention Kato honked the horn. But instead of honking, it buzzed."   
  


"And that's how you came to be called the Green Hornet!" Lee interjected.   
  


"Thank heavens he didn't come up with something like Green Bee or something terrible like that," Casey laughed. She gazed at the Black Beauty. "You two are doing a great job fixing her up. I can still remember the first time I saw her."   
  


Lee looked up in interest. "Did you help build the Black Beauty too?"   
  


"No. I didn't know about the connection between Britt and the Green Hornet at first. I had a few suspicions though. When your employer keeps on disappearing at odd times of the day, or wakes you up in the middle of the night with all sorts of strange questions, you get the idea pretty quickly that he's up to something. I didn't know though how strange or dangerous until one certain night a long time ago.   
  


"In those days I was still hoping to be a reporter so one day while I was having dinner with Mike, he made some kind of crack about female reporters. I blew up and stormed out of the restaurant. As I was walking home, I noticed a big black car. I thought it looked familiar, so I decided to check it out . . . "   
  


Britt interrupted with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with the memory. "The best way to meet girls. Have a great car."   
  


Casey shot a quick warning glance at Britt and continued, "Anyway. When I got close enough, I recognized it as the Black Beauty. I thought this was my chance. What better way to get an interview from the Green Hornet than from the back seat of his own car? Especially since it was rumored that the Hornet had a soft spot for the ladies. I tried the back door and found that it was unlocked. I climbed in, figuring that the worse that would happen is that I'd get kicked out of the car and have to walk home which was what I was doing anyway.   
  


"However, to my surprise, nobody got into the back seat when the car took off a few minutes later. So here I am stuck in the Green Hornet's car going to God only knows where and there's nothing I could do about it. Looking back at it, I guess I could have told Kato that I was there, but at the time, the idea just didn't occur to me.   
  


"From the floor I could hear some police sirens and the car started going so fast that I had to stop myself from being thrown all over the place. Then it suddenly slowed, and when I had the chance to peek out, I could see that we were in the old warehouse district where a lot of warehouses were being turned into boutiques and townhouses, including Britt's.   
  


"I almost gave myself away when I thought we were going to run into a billboard, but instead it opened up. I knew then that I was on my way to the Green Hornet's secret hiding place." Casey paused and shot Britt a dirty look when he looked like he was going to say something about cats and curiosity. She knew he was having a hard time refraining from interrupting her story with comments of his own.   
  


"Then the car went through another alley, through the backyard of a house and through the house's back wall where it finally stopped in a garage. I knew then that I was on top of the biggest story of the century. I had found the Green Hornet's home base. I remember thinking how Mike's face was going to look when I brought in the scoop of the year . . . the Green Hornet's secret identity!   
  


"After Kato got out of the car, I settled in to wait until I could get out and explore. Suddenly the entire car began tilting on its side. I panicked and started screaming at the top of my lungs. The car finally stopped moving, but now it was hanging in the air sideways. I climbed up to the side that was now up in the air, found the button for the electric window, opened it, and pushed my head and shoulders through it. Boy, was I surprised to find that I was looking down at my boss!"   
  


Britt could no longer contain himself and broke out laughing at the memory of Casey's disheveled appearance and the shock on her face when she poked her head out of the window. Casey tried to act miffed, but gave up and joined him in the laughter. "Okay, Mr. Wise Guy, I was a sight, but so were you, my dear Mr. Britt Reid. Your eyes were practically bugged out of your head, and for once the silver-tongued Britt Reid, who always had something clever to say was at a complete loss for words."   
  


She continued her story. "At first I was afraid that he was going to do something to silence me. However after we had gotten over our mutual shock and they helped me out of the car, we discussed things over a cup of coffee and Britt told me the truth about himself and the Green Hornet."   
  


Casey smiled softly, gently placing her hand on Britt's. "That was the beginning of my relationship with the man I'm proud to call my husband, my lover and especially my friend." _No matter what happened_, she thought to herself, _even if he did finally decide to ride the Black Beauty as the Green Hornet again, I will stay at his side._   
  
  
  
  
  


II   
  


A few days later Ed Lowrey entered Britt Reid's office to find him leaning over Casey's shoulder as she typed into the computer on her desk. He cleared his throat. "Mr. Reid?"   
  


Britt acknowledged the reporter with a curt nod, then turned back to his wife. "Casey, see if you can find anything at all on those other names I gave you."   
  


Lowrey glanced at the computer screen. "Say isn't that the police computer files?" He saw a quick look flash between Britt and Casey. "The Chief would nail your hide to the wall if he found out that you still had access to those," he remarked.   
  


"But, he won't. Will he, Lowrey?" Britt replied pointedly as he led Lowrey into his office.   
  


"Not even if he pulls my fingernails out. 'Sides the man's a prick anyway. But, uh, Mr. Reid if I ever need to look up something . . . "   
  


"That'll depend on what it is."   
  


"Right, Boss," Ed said as he sat down before Britt's desk. "How did it go this weekend?"   
  


"Just fine. In fact that's what I want to talk to you about," Britt said. "We discovered a marijuana plantation, but I think it's only the tip of the iceberg. Something very big and very sophisticated is going on. I want you to go back to Wolverton and nose around some more. Those helicopters are probably also being used to ship men and materials in and out of those mountains. I want you to find out where they're going. They have a range of about 300 miles, so I don't think they're flying them into the city. But even if the distance was shorter, I doubt they would anyway. That much activity would be too noticeable. They must have a pick-up point somewhere out in the sticks where they wouldn't be noticed or where a lot of activity like that would be considered normal. I want you to see if you can get a line on it."   
  


"That's a lot of ground to cover, Mr. Reid. It's going to be hard," Lowrey said doubtfully.   
  


"I know, but try anyway. You might get lucky."   
  


"Do you have any idea who's behind this?"   
  


"I do, but I want to keep my suspicions to myself for now until I can do some more investigating on my own." Reid's eyes narrowed as he added grimly, "You will not discuss this with anyone. Understand?"   
  


Ed grimly nodded his understanding. "I got a bad feeling that you're up to your neck in something dangerous here. If I was really smart, I'd bail out now. While I still can." A large grin suddenly flashed on his long face, "But that's why I like working here. Never a boring moment. I'm not about to back out just because things might get a little uncomfortable."   
  


Britt smiled his approval. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Pick up whatever cash you need at the cashier. If you have any problems there, have them call Casey, or me."   
  


Casey's screaming from the anteroom interrupted their discussion. Both men looked up to see Casey and Mike Axford engaged in a bizarre sidestepping waltz as she tried to stop Axford from barging into Britt's office. Britt sighed and shook his head. "Lowrey . . . " he began.   
  


"Right, Boss. I'm gone."   
  


Britt watched Lowrey sidle past Axford and Casey as she vainly tried to stop the retired reporter. It was an old game that they always played. 

"Mike! Don't you dare bother him. He has a lot of work to do!" she screamed.   
  


"Decided to come out of retirement, Mike?" Britt asked Axford.   
  


"Nah, but somebody else has!" Axford roared.   
  


"Who?" Britt asked innocently.   
  


"The Green Hornet, that's who! I told you he wasn't dead!" he shouted triumphantly. "That bastard was too tough to die."   
  


"At least not until you get your hands on him, that is. Why do you believe he's still alive?"   
  


"The entire underworld is abuzz with it. Some Hornet seals were found at a marijuana plantation and a guy got hit by one of those darts the Hornet's man always used. I tell you, Britt, the Hornet's alive and kicking!" Axford exclaimed excitedly.   
  


"Maybe somebody's just trying to take advantage of his reputation. It has gotten blown out of proportion over the years. Somebody might've gotten the bright idea of taking advantage of it," Britt suggested. "From what I remember, I think it's very definite that the Hornet died. If not at that gravel pit, then a short time afterwards. Considering the amount of blood that was found on his discarded clothing, I don't think anyone could have lost that much and lived," he reasoned.   
  


"But no body was ever found, Britt. I tell you, I feel it in my bones. The Hornet's as alive as you are. Something big is going on and the Hornet's behind it."   
  


"I think you're barking up the wrong tree, Mike. I am glad that you're here, though. There's something I want to talk to you about."   
  


"Yeah? What?" Mike said, immediately interested. Even though he had retired a few years ago, intending to write his memoirs, the possibility of a story made his ears prick up like an old fire horse's.   
  


"I've been working on a story on some hard timers I've known and I've been trying to get a line on them. Unfortunately when I try to find something out by computer search, I keep drawing a blank. It's like somebody's wiped the slate clean on every single one of them."   
  


"Computers. Bah. I never had any faith in those damn things. They'll never replace the old Underwood if you want my opinion," Mike remarked. "I've never trusted those things."   
  


Britt wrote several names on a piece of paper. "That's why I want you to see if you can find anything on these men at police headquarters. You're the only reporter that's allowed anywhere near there. The Chief's so damned paranoid that he won't allow anybody with a press pass in without his express permission, in triplicate."   
  


Mike carefully read the names Britt handed him. "Boy these are some really bad characters. They all have records as long as my arm. Most of them should still be in prison."   
  


"But are they, Mike? According to what we've been able to pull up, they're all as pure as driven snow. I want you to find out what's going on."   
  


"Glad to, Britt, but one thing . . . "   
  


Britt rolled his eyes in exasperation, he could see it coming. "What, Mike?"   
  


"I'm sure the Hornet's alive and I want you to keep some space open for the story I'm going to write on his return. And his long overdue capture."   
  


"Get me some positive proof, Mike and I'll run it. Not before," Britt warned the reporter as he lumbered out of the office.   
  
  
  


After Mike left Britt picked up a pen and tried to concentrate on the paperwork on his desk. Now that he had given everyone their assignments, there was nothing left for him to do except wait until he had more information to go on. He should have been able to settle down and get his own work done, but the words on the papers before him made no sense and he found himself having to read the same paragraph over several times. On its own his mind kept on returning to the problem of the mountain plantation and the men behind it.   
  


"What the hell?" Britt said to himself as a large crowd armed with videocams and microphones bearing the emblems of the major networks invaded the Daily sentinel's City Room. At the eye of the tempest was a small, dark man, who led the people about him like a modern day Moses. Or Napoleon.   
  


He beamed benevolently at the outraged publisher storming into the City Room. "Ah, ladies and gentlemen," he said in a surprisingly deep, resonant voice. "Just the man I have come to see, like Mohammad to the mountain. May I introduce to my running mate, the next vice-president of the United States, owner-publisher and editor of this fine newspaper, Mr. Britt Reid?"   
  


Instantly the mob rushed Britt, pressing him back against the wall. He quickly overcame his shock at the unexpected announcement and shoved back at the reporters with the cane in his hand. "No comment," he shouted at the top of his voice, "If and when I chose to make one, it'll be at a time and place of my own choosing. Not here in my City Room. Those of you who don't work for me leave here now, or I'll have you thrown out bodily," he warned. No one made a move until he lifted his cane, threatening to brain anybody if they came too close. "I don't give a damn if I make enemies or not. I won't tolerate any further disruption of my newspaper." Too slowly for his taste the crowd melted away as the Sentinel's security men began escorting them out of the room.   
  


Left alone except for his private bodyguards, Senator Marcus de la Culebra smiled innocently. "I'm sorry to create such an uproar, Britt."   
  


"Senator, we will discuss this in my office," Britt growled, his temper barely under control. "In private," he added as the presidential candidate's men trailed them into Casey's anteroom.   
  
  
  


De la Culebra watched admiringly as Casey pressed the buttons on Britt's desk that closed the drapes, making the office private from the City Room and the other public areas that the office looked into. "I've heard a great deal about you, Britt. I'm glad to see that they are all true, perhaps even to the point of understatement," he said smoothly. "You are well known for your take-charge personality and," he ran a hand along the expensive wood of the elliptical desk, "for your ability to control your entire business from a desk. I must ask you for the name of your cabinetmaker. This could come in handy in the oval office."   
  


Not humored, Britt frowned down at the much shorter man. "I don't care for the way you made your 'little' announcement. I don't like my newspaper disrupted in that manner."   
  


The Senator nodded to himself, ignoring Britt's anger, as he nonchalantly examined Britt's office. He stopped before a large painting above a television set against a wall between the outer door and the anteroom's door. "Is that your father?" he asked. "There's a strong family resemblance. He must have been about the age you are now."   
  


"Yes, that painting is of my father. And yes, he was about the same age I am now. About this announcement you made, Senator . . . " Britt began testily.   
  


"He died in prison, didn't he?"   
  


"He was murdered while serving a sentence for a crime he didn't commit. I don't like being put on the spot like that. Senator, I have no intention of being your vice-president." Britt struggled to maintain self control. He knew that the Senator was playing with him, but he still had to fight down the impulse to wring the little man's neck.   
  


"My dear Britt, as a newspaperman, you know as well as I, that the show's the thing. In politics one must be bold, dramatic. Besides I knew that this way you would have no choice but to agree to be my running mate. Imagine, Britt, the first Hispanic president and the first newspaperman to be vice-president. What an historic ticket that will be. For the first time in far too many years peace will be made between the press and the White House. It will be the perfect match."   
  


"There will be no match. If you think I can't refuse your offer because of the public way you made it, you're badly mistaken. I don't want to be vice-president."   
  


"What do you want, Reid? The Presidency itself, perhaps?"   
  


"I don't want any political office."   
  


"Something else perhaps? Everyone wants something. Money, power, position. What about you?"   
  


"I don't need any of those things. I am happy with what I have."   
  


"You're a fool or a liar. No one is happy with what they have. Everyone wants more," the Senator said, a hardness growing in his dark eyes.   
  


"Perhaps you are right. There is something I do need, but it's very rare these days," Britt hedged warily.   
  


The Senator smiled smugly. Now he had the arrogant editor where he wanted him. "Name it and perhaps we can work out a deal. You have the reputation of never supporting any political candidates. I want your support. I have everyone else's, from the New York Times to the L.A. Times. Everyone except for the Daily Sentinel, that is. I want to correct that oversight. What is it that you want in return for correcting it?"   
  


"It's not an oversight. I made the policy of not supporting political candidates because it could jeopardize the objectivity that the people have come to respect the Sentinel for. I have no intention of changing that policy. As for what I want. What I want is the truth. I have heard whispers that some of your supporters are involved in drugs. Is there any truth in it?"   
  


"Of course not," the Senator said indignantly. "Who told you that kind of trash? Are you intending to print it?"   
  


"No. I won't print it. However, I do have to obligation to print whatever I do discover, no matter what it might be."   
  


The Senator glared at Britt. "Be careful of where you step. You might not like what you find yourself in the middle of. Lies can be turned back at those who spread them." His eyes narrowed as he regarded the tall editor, "Perhaps it is good that you don't want to be my running mate. I don't think I could tolerate sharing the spotlight with a man like you." Then he smiled engagingly. "I fear that you would attract too much attention from my female supporters." He studied the lines of Britt's face. "Tell me, have you heard anything about the Green Hornet still being alive?"   
  


"As far as I know the Green Hornet's been dead for a long time. Why do you ask?"   
  


"No special reason. I was just curious. It's just that a master criminal like him intrigues me. I have heard that the Sentinel, actually yourself, had frequent dealing with him."   
  


"The only dealings I've ever had with him were unpleasant ones, including getting shot in the middle of the City Room. He's dead and I'm glad about it."   
  


"Indeed? I would imagine though that he provided your paper a lot of interesting copy before he died."   
  


"Perhaps, but his dying didn't hurt the Sentinel any. It's done fine since then."   
  


"Indeed it has. Perhaps if you're careful, it will continue to do so," the Senator subtly warned, "After all you do have a family to think about."   
  


"Don't threaten my family, Senator. If anything happens to them, I'll jump on you with both feet," Britt growled. "You'll forgive me if I don't show you out," he said, turning his back on the Senator to look out the window at the city below.   
  


De la Culebra's swarthy features momentarily flushed with anger at being so abruptly dismissed. This time he decided, he would not challenge the publisher, especially in his own office. He grimly left without a word, promising himself that the next time, it would be Reid who would be the loser.   
  


After De la Culebra left, Casey came into the office. "Are you going to accept his offer?"   
  


"No, of course not," Britt answered. "What do you think of him?" he asked.   
  


"He's the most repulsive man I've ever met. He reminds me of some slimy reptile. Those beady eyes of his give me the willies. They're like a snake's," she said with a shiver. "I'm probably the only one who feels that way, but I do think he's an incredible speaker. He's almost hypnotic. Some of my friends have even fallen in love with him, just because of his speeches. They say that he's the most sexually exciting man they have ever seen."   
  


"There's no denying that he does have an incredible amount of charisma." Britt snorted derisively. "All of the world's greatest leaders are said to have possessed it."   
  


"Including Hitler," she commented with an involuntary shudder. "Do you think he was serious about offering you the vice-presidency?"   
  


"I doubt it."   
  


"Then why announce it so publically?"   
  


"He wanted to put me on the spot. He doesn't like it that I won't support him. He hoped that I would make a fool of myself. And I did just that by losing my temper. I not entirely sorry about it though. It's about time somebody showed the world that not everyone is willing to lick his feet for the merest scrap. Unfortunately, I'm sure he will manag to use it to his advantage."   
  


"You sound like it's personal between you," she commented.   
  


"It is," he said as he began pacing. "There's something about him that bothers me."   
  


"Maybe it has something to do with that business up in Wolverton.   
  


"No, it's something else. This is the first time we've ever met face to face. I'm sure of that, but still there's something familiar about him. All the alarm bells keep on going off in my head, but I can't put my finger on why. Every time I think I have it, it slips away, staying just out of my reach." He shrugged off his uneasiness and changed the subject. "Did you find anything at all on those names I gave you?"   
  


"Not a thing. I searched every law enforcement agency I could access; local, state, federal, even Interpol. I couldn't find a thing, except that they all work for the forestry department in some function or the other and that their employment records are clean. There's not even a single parking ticket among them."   
  


"That should be impossible, but I can't say that I didn't expect it. Considering the scope of that operation we saw, clearing those records is only a small sample of the power of whoever is running it has. Casey, I want you to run a check on our esteemed senator."   
  


"I already did," she said proudly.   
  


"You did?" he said, surprised. "When?"   
  


"While you were talking to him. I figured you would want a full run down on him."   
  


"Good girl. What did you find out?"   
  


"Nothing new, I'm afraid. There's nothing that hasn't been examined in minute detail on every TV news program and in every newspaper in the country. You've heard it all before."   
  


Britt sat at his desk and made himself comfortable. "Why don't you refresh my memory?"   
  


She looked quickly through her notes as she sat down in front of his desk. "Let's see. He was born and raised in a tiny village in northern New Mexico. There's nothing remarkable about his upbringing or schooling there. He wasn't the best of students, but he wasn't the worst either. In his teens, he became bored with his life there, dropped out of high school and moved here because of the high paying jobs in the auto industry.   
  


"Instead of finding a job when he got here, he joined a youth gang and quickly rose in the ranks until he became its leader. His official records were closed when he turned twenty-one, but he's made no secret of the fact that he had been arrested for petty larceny and fighting. No convictions though, and no involvement with drugs.   
  


"Then, according to his official bio, an elderly Catholic priest caught him with his hands in the poor box and instead of turning him over to the police put him onto the right track by giving him a job caring for the church's grounds. De la Culebra got religion and resolved to 'fight for the poor and oppressed against the rich and powerful'.   
  


"He earned his GED, went to college on a scholarship sponsored by the priest's parish and after graduating from law school, with honors, opened up a store front legal aid office in that same community. Later, he worked successfully to rehabilitate ex cons and gang members by employing them at a non-profit nursery that he founded in the priest's memory.   
  


"He built up quite a following among the poor with a lot of rousing rhetoric about hard work and bootstraps. He also received a lot of funding from several liberals with uneasy consciences. The liberal backlash against the hyper conservatives and the dissatisfaction of the have-nots against social policies of the last few administrations helped him win the seat in the Senate a few years ago and has kept him there ever since.   
  


"He has a broad base of support now and no one doubts that he will win the presidency easily." She looked up from her notes, taking a deep breath. "Britt, he has connections everywhere. He has friends in every department of the federal government and is on many of the most influential committees in Congress. If he is truly as crooked as you think he is, he is going to be a difficult man to fight. What are you planning to do?"   
  


"There's not much I can do right now. Not until we hear from Mike and Lowrey. I can tell you one thing though, after seeing what was done to the records of those men Lee and I saw, I wouldn't lay much store in what we've read or heard."   
  
  
  


Linda Travis, secretary to the editor of the Clarion, ran down the hallway as the phone rang with jarring insistence. It always seemed to ring whenever she had to get something done at the copier. As she entered the office the heel of her shoe caught in a familiar snag in the worn carpet. She dropped the papers she had been carrying as she tried to stop herself from falling.   
  


"Damn cheapskate," she complained. _One of these days I'm going to break my neck on that_," she thought. She was always warning Crawford about it, but he was too cheap to do anything about it. She pulled her foot free from her shoe. She would have to retrieve it and the papers on the floor after she finished the phone call. "Clarion, Mr. Crawford's office," she answered, hoping that the caller was still on the line. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crawford's not in right now. May I take a message? Mr. Lowrey. Mr. Ed Lowrey? Yes, I've heard of him. He's one of our reporters. No, he prefers to use a pseudonym for the articles he writes for us."   
  


Joshua Crawford angrily tore the phone out of her hand. Covering the receiver with his hand, he hissed to her, "I'll deal with you after I take care of this." He spoke into the phone, "Who's calling. Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry, but my secretary was mistaken. Lowrey isn't on the Clarion's staff. If you're having problems with him, I suggest you call his real employer, Britt Reid, the editor of the Daily Sentinel. I don't care what Lowrey said. Reid's always telling his people to say that they work for us when they get into trouble. You better keep a close eye on him. All of Reid's people are troublemakers," he warned the caller. "Yeah, glad to be a help."   
  


Banging down the phone, he turned on his secretary. "What's the big idea? Does Reid have any other spies around here?" he demanded angrily.   
  


"I wasn't doing it for Britt Reid. Ed Lowrey asked me to cover for him as a personal favor. He said he was working on something and he didn't want anybody to know about it," she protested, "including Mr. Reid."   
  


"What's Lowrey working on?"   
  


"I don't know. He didn't tell me."   
  


"I believe that like I got a hole in my head. Reid's always throwing his weight around, just because he has the biggest circulation in the city. He doesn't have to put up with a board of directors made up of lawyers and bankers to check every decision he makes. No, he can make any decision he wants and pocket all the profits himself without having to give it to a bunch of money hungry stockholders. The Clarion would be doing as good as the Sentinel if I had that kind of power."   
  


"I said Mr. Reid doesn't know anything. Ed didn't want him to know what he was working on."   
  


"Bull!" Crawford bellowed. "Reid always knows what his people are doing. They're loyal to him. Not like with me. All I got working for me is a bunch of losers and ingrates. Including you. You're fired. Clear out your desk before I leave for lunch. If you're so damn eager to work for Reid, you can look to him for a job." He glared at the papers strewn over the frayed carpet. "And pick up that stuff."   
  


"You can pick that up yourself, you miserable SOB," she yelled back at him as she tearfully began cleaning out her desk. "Even if I can't get a job at the Sentinel, no job is better than working for a miserable good-for-nothing like you!"   
  


Crawford angrily slammed the door behind him. He hated losing the girl, especially if she did go over to the Sentinel. Although she was plain, she was the best secretary he's had in a long time. He picked up an old football trophy and threw it at the door. "Damn," he cursed. Everywhere he turned, there was Reid blocking him. Whenever he had anyone with the slightest promise on his staff, Reid would steal that person away. Crawford was forced to run the Clarion with alcoholics and illiterates. Yet, despite Reid's best efforts to bury the Clarion, Crawford still managed to keep it afloat by turning it into a fairly successful weekly tabloid. So what if most of what was printed was superstitious nonsense and pseudoscience. Circulation was at an all time high and that's all that mattered in the end.   
  


He hunted in his pockets for a phone number, found it and began dialing. Senator de la Culebra's campaign manager had approached him with the idea of digging up some dirt on the ever-sanctimonious editor of the Daily Sentinel. Reid had invaded Crawford's turf once too often. He was going to find enough dirt to bury Reid six feet under.   
  
  
  
  
  


III   
  
  
  
  
  


Tiredly lowering his binoculars, Lowrey began rubbing his eyes. There had been too many all-nighters this week. All he had drawn so far were blanks and he was ready to call it quits and return to Reid with a negative report. He hated the idea of admitting defeat to the Old Man. He fumbled in the paper bag beside him for a sandwich and began munching on it as he resumed his watch. Of all the places he had pinpointed on the map and had checked out so far, the old military weapons depot he was watching was the most promising. He had learned from the local farmers that the place had been deactivated shortly after the Vietnam War and had sat vacant until it was turned over to a federal research group a few years ago. The locals said that the people there were pleasant enough, but vague about exactly what they were doing. _Research_, Lowrey thought, _that was what was supposed to be going on in those mountains around Wolverton_. He made a mental note to see if the same person, or persons, might be behind both 'research' projects.   
  


The old depot had been quiet for most of the day with little visible activity outside of some foot traffic and an occasional truck that pulled into one of the larger buildings. Lowrey had seen them arrive, but as of yet, none of them had left. He wearily glanced at his watch and looked up at the sun that was now a big orange ball sitting on the western horizon. He'd know by tomorrow morning whether this was the right place or not.   
  


Lowrey finished his sandwich and opened the Tupperware container that held a large piece of blueberry pie. He was glad he had decided to use Mrs. Apple's place as a base of operations. _It's good to have a comfortable place to crash between excursions, and the food isn't bad either_, he thought as he licked the sticky filling from his fingers.   
  


The sky was just starting to blush with the first glow of the rising sun, when the first dark blot appeared over the horizon. Lowrey blinked his eyes and yawned broadly, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back. For a few moments he watched as the distant dots became larger until they were recognizable as several large helicopters in dull army green. Bingo, he thought triumphantly. The heavy beat of their blades against the cool, early morning air became louder as they neared the depot. One by one they delicately landed on a large concrete pad near the large building where the trucks had pulled into the afternoon before.   
  


Lowrey remained only long enough to make sure that what was unloaded was indeed the large bales of marijuana that Reid had described. He would have liked to have stayed to see where the trucks that were being loaded from the copters would go, but it looked like a long operation. He was in a hurry to get his report in to the Boss. There were only a few roads into the area and only one that led out from the depot. He knew where there was a phone along the most likely route toward town. He could watch them while he called in his report.   
  


Several hours later at a roadside cafe, Lowrey nursed a bitter cup of coffee and poked at a stale sweet roll. Through the dirt-streaked window he saw the first of the trucks pass by. Positive now of the trucks' direction, he crawled out of the poorly patched booth and casually sauntered to the antiquated payphone. It still worked and still even accepted dimes for calls. First he tried Reid's direct line at the paper. "This is Ed Lowrey. Is Mr. Reid in?" he asked, surprised that he had gotten the switchboard instead. "No? When will he be in? No idea at all? Are you sure?" Damn, Lowrey cursed as he banged the receiver down on its handle.   
  


Of course nobody knows where Reid is. Nobody ever knows where that man goes and he never bothers to tell anybody either. He dug through his pockets for the piece of paper where he had written Reid's home number. Swearing, he pulled out crumpled papers, change, paper clips and pencils sharpened down to the metal bands that once held erasers. Finally he found it inside an inner pocket of his jacket. He dialed number and listened impatiently as it rang.   
  


A deep authoritative voice interrupted Lowrey's ring count, "You own that sports car out there?" demanded the gigantic state cop standing at the door.   
  


"I don't own it. It's a rental," Lowrey replied, placing the receiver back into its cradle. "What's the matter, Officer?"   
  


"We got an APB on a vehicle matching your car's description. We'd like to take a look at it."   
  


"Yeah, sure, anything Officer," Lowrey meekly complied. The last thing he wanted was trouble with the cops.   
  


Outside beside Lowrey's red convertible was another state cop, as big as the first, but while the first had been a nordic giant, the one was as dark as bitter chocolate. "Let's look into the trunk first," the man said in a rumbling bass.   
  


Lowrey shrugged indifferently as he pulled out the keys, hunted for the right one, trying to remember whether it was the big one or the little one that opened the trunk. "You want me to open it, or do you want to?" he asked when he had found the right key.   
  


"You do it."   
  


"Okay, anything you say, Officer." Lowrey opened the trunk. It was bare except for the spare and jack.   
  


"Nothing here," the black cop said after rapping along the sides of the trunk and examining under the spare. "What about inside the car?" he asked his partner who was rummaging through the trash that Lowrey had scattered into the back seat.   
  


"Nothing yet. Hey, wait a minute. What do we have here?" the white cop said, pulling out a brown package from under the seat and began unwrapping it.   
  


"Hey!" Lowrey exclaimed in sudden panic. It was staring to feel like a set up. "I never saw that before. Somebody must've left it there. I don't know anything about that," he protested as the white officer dipped a moistened finger into the white powder in the package.   
  


"Sure pal, the Little People left it there as a personal gift to you. Right?" the black cop said sarcastically.   
  


"I tell you, I never saw that before," Lowrey said, feeling helplessly caught in an undertow.   
  


"That's what they all say, buddy," the white cop replied. "Assume the position. Charlie, read him his rights, will you?"   
  


The state officers brought their prisoner into the nearest police station. It was very familiar to Lowrey. "Hi Sheriff. Long time, no see," Lowrey said in a weak attempt a humor. "_Out of the frying pan_ . . . " he thought to himself.   
  


"So, Mr. Troublemaker, you're back again. What's the beef, Officers?"   
  


"Transporting coke, Sheriff. You mind if we keep him here on ice for a while?" the white cop said as he wrinkled his nose at the Sheriff's smelly cigar.   
  


"No problem. Glad to be a help," the Sheriff said. "Lowrey, you stay here while we take care of the paperwork out front."   
  


"You think you should leave him alone?" the black cop questioned.   
  


"He ain't goin' nowhere," the Sheriff confidently assured them.   
  


Left alone in the Sheriff's office, Lowrey panic-stricken, quickly went to work, trying to figure a way out of the room. He feared what might happen to him once he was helpless in the Sheriff's none too gentle hands.   
  


"There's no way out, buster, so you might as well relax," the Sheriff said, closing the door behind him.   
  


"I want my lawyer," Lowrey demanded.   
  


"After you answer some questions," the Sheriff growled.   
  


"Not until I see my lawyer," Lowrey insisted.   
  


"Now!" the Sheriff growled, pushing the reporter against the dingy wall. "I've been makin' a few calls and I find you been tellin' me some lies. Who do you work for?" 

"I work for the Clarion," Lowrey hopelessly lied.   
  


"I called there. They never heard of you. Try again."   
  


"I work for the Daily Sentinel," Lowrey finally admitted, knowing that is was useless to hide the Sentinel's, or Reid's, involvement any longer.   
  


"Is your boss' name Britt Reid? Is he the one who sent you here?" the Sheriff asked.   
  


"Yeah."   
  


"Did he know a guy named Kato?"   
  


"Yeah. His son came to Mr. Reid because he thought his father had been murdered." Lowrey said.   
  


"I'm glad the boy found someone to help him. I just wish you'd let me know Reid sent you in the first place. It could've saved you and me a whole lot of trouble."   
  


"How's that?" Lowrey asked.   
  


"I was workin' with Kato. I couldn't let anybody know, not even his boy, 'cause it could've put him in danger." 

"What do you mean?"   
  


"Kato and I were collecting everything we could about what was happening around here. He told me that if anything happened to him to give it to an old friend of his named Britt Reid. He said Reid ran a paper called Daily Sentinel down south. I've been waitin' for him or somebody from his paper to show up so's I could give it to him."   
  


"Why didn't you just got in contact with the Sentinel yourself?"   
  


"Couldn't. I was worried somebody would find out before I could get it to him. There's nobody around here I can trust anymore."   
  


The Sheriff walked to the water cooler set in the corner and pressed a button hidden in its base. The rusty radiator beneath the room's sole window slipped silently to reveal a small inset panel. Lowrey joined the Sheriff and looked closely at the clever way the rollers on the radiator had been attached. No one knowing about them would have guessed that it was even possible to move the heavy object more than an inch.   
  


"I like it. Do it yourself?"   
  


"Nope," the Sheriff grunted as he lifted out the panel and pulled out a heavy briefcase. "I'll go south with you and meet with Reid. I'll answer any questions that Reid has, but after he sees this he won't have many to ask. We better get outa' here. I got a feelin' that you aren't supposed to be here very long."   
  


"That's quite right, Sheriff," said a deputy standing in the doorway. "Matter of fact, Mr. Lowrey you're gonna escape. Unfortunately, you'll be shot while making your escape after killing the Sheriff," he said aiming his gun at the Sheriff's ample midsection.   
  


With amazing speed for a man of his bulk the Sheriff threw the briefcase at the deputy and dove for his own gun on the desk in front of him. In a single clap of thunder the Sheriff and deputy fired at each other. Lowrey dove for the deputy trying to stop him from firing again, only to find the man was already dead. "You got him, Sheriff," he said turning back to the Sheriff.   
  


The Sheriff leaning against the wall spread his hand over a gaping hole in his belly. " 'Fraid he got me too," he got me too," he gasped painfully.   
  


"I better get some help," Lowrey said as he vainly tried to stop the spurting blood from the Sheriff's wound.   
  


"No use. I'm a goner. Get outta here while you can. Get that stuff to Reid. He'll know what to do with it. I don't matter, but those papers do. Now git!" he growled, drawing on his last reserves of strength.   
  


Lowrey opened his mouth to argue, but found that the man in his arms was already beyond his help. Not willing to run a gauntlet of crooked deputies, he grabbed up the Sheriff's chair and heaved it through the window. He was half out the window before he remembered the briefcase. Precious moments were wasted as he hurriedly searched until he found it under the dead deputy. He squeezed frantically out the window and praised his luck that his car was almost under the window. He fumbled for the keys, couldn't find them and began to panic.   
  


"_Gotta be some way_...," he said to himself as he climbed into the car. Although he had no idea how to hot-wire the car, he began fumbling beneath the steering column, batting away the keys that hung there.   
  


"Keys!" Lowrey cursed himself for his blindness, scrambled behind the wheel and gunned out from behind the building just as a deputy poked his head out of the window and began shouting to his comrades.   
  


Lowrey tore out of town. He ignored its single stop light, and almost slid into a dump truck that was slowly creeping across the intersection. The only police car to pull out fast enough after the fleeing reporter was not so lucky. It slipped under the truck's rear, spilling most of its foul load over itself and the intersection in all directions, blocking off all other pursuit.   
  


Lowrey drove at top speed for several miles. As yet, he had not spotted any pursuers. All too soon he knew that the police would be on the hunt for a red sports car. He would not be able to stay free unless he could disappear. He would have to ditch the car quickly, even though it would be impossible to make his way home on foot. It would not even be safe for him to hitchhike. There was no telling who would pick him up. Lowrey squinted at the clock in the car's dashboard. It was well past midnight. His only resort was to call the boss and ask for a ride into the city. He prayed that Reid would be home as anyone decent should be, but with the publisher there was no telling what he might be involved in at this hour. 


	5. Attack

Chapter Five   
  
  
  


Attack   
  


I   
  


"Britt," Casey whispered into her husband's ear, "I think we should answer the phone."   
  


Britt gently moved her hair out of his face. "Maybe if we ignore it, they'll go away." A few moments passed as they impatiently listened to the insistent jangling of the telephone, wishing that it would stop so they could return to their lovemaking.   
  


"I knew we should've put an answering machine on this line," Casey said. "I don't think it's going to stop. It could be an emergency," she added.   
  


Britt reluctantly untangled his legs from hers. "I guess you're right," he grumbled. He lightly caressed her naked back and thighs as she leaned across him to reach the phone on his side of the bed.   
  


"You're impossible," she said. "You know you could get it yourself."Casey grabbed the receiver, dropped it and had to pull herself half off the bed trying to retrieve it.   
  


"Nah," he said. "I'm enjoying watching you get it too much. You know whoever it is will probably hang up before you pick it up," Britt remarked, watching the curve of her body contorting after the slippery receiver as it tumbled just out of her reach.   
  


Finally winding up on the thickly carpeted floor, Casey breathlessly spoke into the phone, "Hello?"   
  


"Mrs. Reid? Sorry to wake you up, but I got to talk to the Boss. Is he in?" Lowrey said from the other end.   
  


Casey smiled at Lowrey unintentional double entendre. "You might say that he's both in and out."   
  


"Huh?"   
  


"Never mind, Ed. He's here. Just a moment and I'll give the phone to him." She handed the phone to Britt as she climbed back into bed. "It's Ed Lowrey," she whispered.   
  


"Yeah, Lowrey, what do you want?" Britt growled.   
  


"I got the suff you wanted, Mr. Reid. And more."   
  


"Great, but why are you calling me in the middle of the night?"   
  


"Well, uh, you see, I ran into some trouble."   
  


Instantly alert, Britt pulled himself to the edge of the bed. "What kind of trouble?"   
  


"It's a long story."   
  


"Just hit the high spots, Lowrey."   
  


"The cops are after me. They think I killed a sheriff and his deputy. I'm up on a drug rap too."   
  


"Nice combination. Are you innocent?"   
  


"Of course I am. You know I'm clean."   
  


"Yeah, right," Britt said dubiously. "What do you need?"   
  


"I need a lift home and a place to lay low until things get straightened out. To lose the cops I had to get rid of my car. I've been walking all night and my feet are all blistered."   
  


Britt sighed wearily. "Where are you?"   
  


"I'm at a closed down gas station near the Lakeview cutoff. It's about 100 miles out of town. I'm sorry about getting you out of bed, but I think you'll find it worth the trouble."   
  


"I hope you're right," Britt warned.   
  


After slamming the receiver down, he turned to Casey, "Lowrey's in some kind of trouble. I'm going to have to fly down to the Lakeview cutoff to get him."   
  


Picking up her nightgown from where it had been discarded at the foot of the bed, Casey threw if over her head and followed Britt as he began pulling clothes from his bureau. "Why don't you take Lee along? He could give you a hand."   
  


Britt shook his head. "Nah, let him sleep. That is if that damn phone didn't wake him up already. He's been up late every night working on the Black Beauty. I think he deserves a rest."   
  


"Britt, I really think you should take him along. Just in case . . . , you know . . . " she said worriedly as she watched him getting dressed.   
  


"I'll be fine," he insisted. "I don't need a babysitter, especially one that's a mere child himself."   
  


"I didn't mean it that way. It's just that I worry. I want you to be careful," she said, resting her hands on his shoulders.   
  


He smiled, lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. I'm not expecting any trouble. I'm just going to pick Lowrey up and bring him directly here. I'll be back before you know it," he calmly reassured her.   
  


As he listened to the whine of his helicopter's engine warming up, Britt looked up to Casey's slender figure in the window backlit by the light in their bedroom. "_Damn_," he thought, "_I hate making Casey worry like this. Maybe whatever Lowrey has will mean the end of this business and we can get our lives back to normal."_   
  


The sun was just starting to come over the horizon when he finally spotted the gas station where Lowrey had said he would be. From the air he couldn't see the reporter, but perhaps the man was keeping out of sight. He decided to land and check it out.   
  


"Mr. Reid!" Lowrey shouted as he stepped out from behind some bushes. "I'm sorry I wasn't out to meet you. It's just lately I've been kind of gun shy about helicopters. If you know what I mean." He bent down, pulling out an old red leather briefcase. "Here's the stuff I told you about."   
  


Britt strode quickly to Lowrey and grabbed the briefcase. "I'll take this while you climb in. I don't waste any more time than I have to. You can tell me everything on our way back to my place in Valley Grove."   
  


Lowrey watched the ground slipping away with misgivings as Britt eased the helicopter back into the sky. He began digging into the briefcase on his lap, trying to keep his mind off how far up in the air they were and how fragile the craft felt to him. "I'm glad you were able to make it out here. I didn't much like the idea of walking the rest of the way."   
  


"I hope it'll be worth it, Lowrey. I left a nice warm bed to fly out here. I don't usually provide taxi service for my reporters," Britt replied as he kept his eyes firmly ahead. "Tell me what happened."   
  


"I found your pick up point. It's an old deactivated weapons depot, Fort Bradford. It's being used for some kind of research project. Sounds like the same kind of thinking behind that place near Wolverton. I saw the helicopters fly into there and drop off their cargo. I also saw a lot of trucks haul the stuff toward the city."   
  


"Do you have any idea where they might be dropping it off?"   
  


"Nope. I'm hoping the location will be in these papers," Lowrey answered as he drew out a handful of papers, scanned through them and then discarded for another handful. "In this light I can't see much yet. There's some names of different companies and a lot of numbers. I think once we land, we can spread everything out and try to make some sense of it." Lowrey looked up, and asked hopefully, "Uh, Mr. Reid, how long until we land?" The sight of the air rushing past them beneath his feet was making him airsick.   
  


"Not much longer. We'll go over those at my house and I'll try to straighten out that mess you're in," Britt absently assured Lowrey, his mind not totally on their conversation. Since he had picked the reporter up, he had felt an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades. "What about the drug rap and the murders?" he asked.   
  


"After I had seen what I felt was enough, I tried to call you at the Sentinel from a diner, but you weren't there. Then I tried to call your house, but before I could get through, a pair of state cops rousted me out of the diner. They searched my car and found a brick of coke in it. I never saw it before, Mr. Reid. It must've been planted there."   
  


"Do you think the cops put it there?"   
  


"That's the way I figure it," Lowrey felt the helicopter abruptly change direction. "What going on?" he asked.   
  


"There seems to be something between us and the sun. I want to find out what it is," Britt answered.   
  


Lowrey gulped nervously as he squinted behind them into the orange glow of the newly risen sun. "I don't see anything," he murmured hopefully. "Geez, Boss, what're you doing?!" Lowrey exclaimed, clutching wildly at the open briefcase, trying to stop it from flying off his lap and spilling its contents as Britt suddenly slammed his small craft into a tight climbing turn. "Good God!" the reporter yelped as they came face to face with a squat, boxy helicopter that began firing at them as they turned to face it. "Let's get out of here!" He screamed, ducking as a bullet pierced the windshield.   
  


"I intend to," Britt answered grimly as he charged directly into the path of their attacker and on into the bright glare of the sun. The enemy copter frantically pulled up out of their way, hung motionless momentarily in the air and then dived after them. Relentlessly it clung to their tail as they skimmed along only a few yards above the heavily wooded ground, frequently barely dodging the taller trees. White-knuckled, Britt prodded his smaller and faster craft as low as he dared, hoping that their attackers would be too busy trying to follow their wild, weaving flight to get a good aim. Lowrey yelped again as the window next to him starred as a swarm of bullets ripped through and buried themselves in his employer's door. Reid violently jerked his craft around and dove for the low rounded hills framing the pass into Valley Grove.   
  


Spotting the multilevel cris-crossing overpass feeding from the north and south, Britt slid his craft beneath it. Slipping neatly behind an eighteen-wheeler, Reid swooped beneath the underpass as the enemy craft screamed over it, narrowly missing a DSTV helicopter on early morning traffic watch. The DSTV copter swung dizzily, then righted itself. Forgetting its morning duties, it charged after the two helicopters speeding down into the valley. Lowrey peeked, groaned and began silently praying. _This is another thing to remember not to do with the boss_, he thought.   
  


"Do you see them anymore?" Britt gritted through clenched teeth.   
  


Lowrey nervously craned his neck around, almost spilling the briefcase he was holding in a death grip. "Nope, no sign of them, Boss. Must be getting too much traffic for them. Guess they don't want any witnesses around," he replied, trying to keep his voice from breaking. He could not believe how calm his employer was. _The man must have ice water in his veins_, he thought.   
  


"Good. I'm going to have to take her down, before she comes down on her own."   
  


"Wha . . . ?" Lowrey choked out, suddenly realizing that their helicopter's bucking was not under Reid's control.   
  


"We've been hit. I can hardly keep her under control," Britt gritted as he fought the barely responsive collective.   
  


Lower and lower they plunged toward the ground. Almost scraping a skid on a wall, they landed with a bone-jarring jolt in the middle of a well-manicured yard. Lowrey, panicked by the black, billowing cloud of smoke from the rear, jerked open his door.   
  


"Lowrey, don't," Reid warned as he grabbed the reporter's shoulder, pulling him back just before a snarling mouthful of teeth grazed his feet.   
  


"Geez!" Lowrey exclaimed as five massive Rottweiler dogs leapt at his door.   
  


"Better stay in here until their owner calls them off."   
  


"What if this thing blows up first?"   
  


"It won't," Britt replied calmly.   
  


At a sharp whistle the dogs melted away from the disabled craft and Britt climbed out of his side of the helicopter. He pleasantly greeted the tall, white-blonde man striding to meet them. "Sorry to disturb your morning, Hans. I had a little engine trouble. I had to land where I could."   
  


From the DSTV copter overhead, a voice shouted down to the men on the ground, "Are you okay?"   
  


Britt looked up at them and waved. "We're fine," he shouted back. "Don't release that film until I give the word. I want to see it first."   
  


"Yes, sir!" the voice responded as the traffic copter headed back into the air. On board the cameraman poked the pilot in the ribs. "See, I told you that was the boss." The pilot just shook his head in amazement.   
  


Back on the ground the owner of the yard Britt and Lowery had landed in, examined their craft critically. "Looks to me like you've had a little more than engine trouble here, Reid," he said, noting the bullet holes in its metal skin. "One of these days your luck is going to desert you," he said in a thick German accent. "I don't see how your wife tolerates it."   
  


Britt shrugged amiably. "That's part of my luck, I guess. Can I use your phone?"   
  


"Go ahead. You know where it is. You've used it often enough."   
  


"Uh, could I use your john, Mister . . . ?" Lowrey asked in embarrassment after climbing out his side of the damaged aircraft.   
  


Britt smiled graciously. "Sorry, forgot my manners. Hans, this is Ed Lowrey, one of my reporters. Ed, this is Hans Klaus, one of my neighbors."   
  


Hans acknowledged Britt's introduction with a curt military nod. "Unfortunately, Mr. Lowrey, I am beginning to regret being your employer's neighbor. He has a very bad habit of dropping at the oddest times of the day. If it were not for his lovely wife, I would have moved away a long time ago. I keep on hoping that some day she will come to her senses."   
  


Britt clicked disapprovingly, "Dream on, Little Cowboy. After me, she'd find you very boring."   
  


"Uh, Mr. Klaus, the john?" Lowrey asked insistently as he shook a leg uncomfortably.   
  


"Of course, Mr. Lowrey, I understand. Flying with Reid can be most unnerving. Please follow me," the German said leading the way to his house.   
  


After he had finished, Lowrey wandered around until the butler found him and escorted him to a large room cluttered with aircraft memorabilia. "Ah, Mr. Lowrey, Britt has just finished telling me all about your adventure," Hans said as the reporter entered the room.   
  


"Hans has agreed to forget that you were with me when I landed in his backyard," Britt explained. "Hans and I go back a long way. He was the one that taught me how to fly."   
  


"That must have been interesting," Lowrey said drily.   
  


The tall German laughed. "Actually Britt, I am quite impressed. You did very well for someone who has never seen actual combat."   
  


Britt shrugged off the compliment, "I've studied military tactics a bit when I was younger. What I did was nothing."   
  


"Nothing? Britt, you out flew a well-armed military helicopter in a mere civilian aircraft. By rights you should not be alive."   
  


"We're only alive because I was willing to take more chances than they were. As it was, if they hadn't been so worried about witnesses, Lowrey and I would be dead now," Britt pointed out.   
  


Hans shook his head in amazement. "You will never make a good fighter pilot. You have the guts, but you're far too modest."   
  


"I think I'll leave the flying to professionals like you. I have enough on my hands just trying to run the Sentinel."   
  


Hans turned to Lowrey, "Perhaps Mr. Lowrey would like to learn how to fly. I would be most happy to teach him."   
  


"No way, Mr. Klaus, I think from now on I'm going to stay on the ground where I belong. That way I don't have so far to fall."   
  


Before Hans could reply, his butler entered the room and cleared his throat. "Sir, the car for Mr. Reid and Mr. Lowrey has arrived," he announced.   
  


"Hans, thank you for your hospitality. I owe you. I'll send someone over to take care of the helicopter later," Britt said, bidding his goodbye.   
  


"Yeah, thanks," Lowrey said, echoing his employer's sentiment as he shook Hans' hand. "Maybe one of these days we can get together. I'd like to hear something about Mr. Reid's early days. I'm finding out all sorts of things that I didn't know before."   
  


"I'm sure he could tell you much better than I could."   
  


Lowrey looked sideways at Reid. "Yeah, but he'd probably leave out all the juicy stuff. You know, the employer-employee relationship being what it is," he said with a wink.   
  


As they walked out the front door, Britt could feel the reporter's eyes on him. He was worried about what was on the man's mind. _Lowrey's sharp, that's why I haven't fired him before even though he's a pain in the ass. But he could be too damn sharp for his own good. And mine._   
  
  
  


II   
  
  
  


When he saw Lee at the wheel of the Cadillac convertible, Britt frowned. "Where's Casey?" he asked, settling into the back seat after Lowrey had climbed into the back.   
  


"She's at home. She said there's some kind of problem at the paper. She told me to drop Mr. Lowrey off at your house and drive you on to the Sentinel," he explained. "There's a suit for you on the back seat." Lee looked back at Lowrey. "Uh, Mr. Lowrey's sitting on it," he remarked as Lowrey hastily slid off the plastic wrapped clothing.   
  


Ignoring Lowrey's mumbled apology, Britt demanded, "What kind of problem?"   
  


"I'm not sure. Mr. Dunigan said something about a bunch of picketers in front of the building. They're getting in the way of the paper delivery trucks and are stopping people from coming in to work."   
  


"Damn," Britt cursed. He was sure that De la Culebra was behind this. The man was moving faster than he had expected. "Lee, I'll drop you off at the house with Lowrey. I can drive myself into the city."   
  


" Mr. Reid, Mrs. Reid said I was supposed to stay with you," Lee objected.   
  


"I'd feel a lot better if you stay with her. Just in case there's any kind of trouble at the house."   
  


Lowrey interrupted their argument, "Mr. Reid, maybe I should turn myself in to the cops. I don't want to get you and the Missus in any trouble."   
  


Britt violently shook his head. "No way. You might just be our only ace in the hole. I don't want you to reappear until I'm ready. Turning yourself in won't change anything. Not as long as we have that stuff in that briefcase."   
  


"Then why don't you print what's in those papers? That way everything will be out in the open. They'll be too busy defending themselves to bother you," Lowrey suggested.   
  


"I may do that, but I haven't had a chance to look them over yet. I want to keep them, and you under wraps for now. I need time to make some plans of my own."   
  


"You might not have the time . . . "Lowrey countered.   
  


"I'll make the time," Britt said with determination.   
  


Casey came to the car as they pulled up to the front door of the Valley Grove house. Britt got out of the car and went over to the driver's side. "Lee, you stay here with Casey and Lowrey. I'll go on to the paper alone," he ordered.   
  


Lee looked at Casey in confusion. He didn't want to go against either of their wishes. Casey came to his rescue. "Britt, I had asked him to stay with you," she said firmly.   
  


"I don't need him along," Britt protested. "I can take care of things myself."   
  


"I know, but I still want him with you. You're only one man and there might be serious trouble. You can't be everywhere at once. He's been stuck in the house too long. I think he could stand to get out a little bit."   
  


"Casey . . . " Britt began, but stopped when she placed her fingers on his lips. Although next to him she seemed small and delicate, she could be as stubborn as him.   
  


Britt hesitated, wanting to disagree, but he noticed the worry in her eyes. Instead he kissed her. "Okay, you win, but I want you to call me, or the police, at the first sign of trouble here."   
  


"Don't worry, I will. Ed and I will get along just fine," she said confidently.   
  


Britt looked sharply at the reporter. "Hands off the boss' wife, Mister," he warned in jest. "You and Casey can go over those papers. See if there's anything in there I can use. I also want you to stay out of sight, until we can find a better place to hide you."   
  


Britt returned to the car and opened the driver's side. "Okay, young man, you can go with me, but I'm driving," he ordered as Lee slid to the passenger side.   
  


While he drove into the city, Britt filled Lee in on his and Lowrey's hair raising flight, but his mind kept on wandering while he spoke. "Mr. Reid," Lee asked, "What do you think those people down at the Sentinel are protesting about?"   
  


"I don't know. I don't think it really matters. I'm willing to bet it's a set up."   
  


"A set up? Why?"   
  


"A peaceful demonstration can turn into an ugly riot very quickly, especially if that's someone's intention."   
  


"There might be trouble then?" Lee asked eagerly, looking forward to the possibility of action.   
  


Britt shot a quick look at the younger man. "Hold on to your horses. This isn't a game. In a riot, somebody, maybe even you or I, could get very badly hurt," he said grimly.   
  


As they turned off the freeway and headed toward the Sentinel, the traffic slowed to an arthritic crawl. "Must be some kind of accident," Lee remarked.   
  


"I doubt it," Britt said, impatiently tapping a forefinger on the steering wheel. "This is crazy. I can't wait here all day. There's no telling what's going on at the paper."   
  


A few blocks from the Sentinel he abruptly pulled the car over. "I'm going to walk the rest of the way."   
  


"I'm going with you," Lee volunteered as he opened his door.   
  


"No. Stay with the car. When the traffic opens up, you can bring it to the paper."   
  


"You're not planning on going there alone, are you?"   
  


"I am," Britt responded sharply. He was not used to someone questioning his decisions.   
  


"It could be dangerous. What if somebody recognizes you? You might need some help."   
  


Britt began to retort that he didn't need any help, but caught himself, realizing that lately he had been too sensitive about needing help. He could not allow his stubborn pride to overcome his common sense. "Okay," he agreed, "you can come along, but you must do as I say."   
  


"Right!" Lee agreed, eagerly leaping out of the car and grabbing Britt's suit.   
  


Britt picked up the car phone and rang up the Sentinel. "I'm going to see if they can send some security men. If there is trouble we might need some reinforcements." After he had finished the call, Britt climbed out of the car. "We'll start walking and meet them on the way there."   
  


Lee had a hard time keeping up with Britt as he quickly strode to the Daily Sentinel. While the publisher threaded through the lunchtime crowd without a single pause, Lee found his way constantly blocked. Although he managed to safely cha-cha around a large woman laden with department store bargains, he barely escaped a fistfight with an angry father after nearly falling over an oversized stroller carrying sleeping twins. He had to frequently run just to keep Britt Reid in sight.   
  


"Mr. Reid," he said breathlessly, "Wait up. I can't keep up."   
  


For a moment Britt stopped. "Okay, but try to move a little more quickly," he said impatiently, looking ahead of them. "I can see the security men coming toward us."   
  


After the security men, both of them built like fullbacks, arrived Britt asked them what was happening at the paper. "How bad is it?"   
  


"Not too bad yet, Mr. Reid. So far they're pretty peaceful except that they have all the entrances blocked with junk. Except for the front door that is."   
  


"Yeah," said the other guard, "They're not going to make it easy for you to slip in, Mr. Reid."   
  


"Has anyone been hurt yet?"   
  


"Nope, not yet, except we had to bulldog Mr. Axford before he slugged on of them. Some of those signs are mighty insulting, sir."   
  


"How is the rest of the staff handling it?"   
  


"A lot of people are calling in saying they're too scared to cross the picket line. Most of the reporters though are having a field day. They're interviewing anybody who'll stand still long enough to talk."   
  


"What about the police?" Britt asked, "Why haven't they done anything about this?"   
  


"Every time we call them, they say that they can't get through the traffic jam. They say that we'll just have to hang tight until they can get through."   
  


"We won't be able to get the paper out today if I don't stop this now," Britt said angrily.   
  


"Mr. Reid, maybe you should forget about coming in today. They're waiting just for you."   
  


"Yeah," agreed the other man, "They have boxes of rotten tomatoes and fruit stashed behind the line, but they haven't done anything with them yet. If you show up, there's bound to be trouble. Why don't you go home? Things will cool off by tomorrow."   
  


"I won't be barred from my own newspaper by a bunch of hoodlums. I'm going in." Britt turned to Lee. "Are you sure you still want to come along? Things could get ugly. It's not too late to back out," he offered.   
  


"If there's going to be a fight, I'm ready for it," Lee answered boldly. "Just lead the way."   
  


"Okay," Britt said, wishing that the young man had decided otherwise. Noticing that the security men were armed, he warned them, "Under no circumstances are you to draw your guns, even if you don't intend to fire. I won't have a massacre on the Sentinel's doorstep."   
  


"We understand, sir," both men said in unison.   
  


A large crowd of curious onlookers had formed a dense ring around the front of the Sentinel building. The four men were forced to elbow their way through until a few people recognized the newspaper publisher. A surprised murmur spread through the crowd like a silent wildfire and people began to move out of their way, parting before Reid like he was a modern day Moses- or a leper.   
  


Finally Britt faced the line of chanting picketers holding signs proclaiming him a racist and the Daily Sentinel an Imperialist tool, among many far worst things. He motioned for Lee and the security men to stop and went a few paces ahead of them. In the tense silence that fell over the claustrophobic space between the building and the street Britt raised his voice, but kept his tone calm and commanding, "Please leave the premises immediately."   
  


"What if we don't?" challenged a young woman, defiantly striding to face the much taller publisher. Despite the shapeless camouflage pants and pea green T-shirt, she would have been considered exotically beautiful, but for the fact that her bronzed aristocratic features that may have come from a Mayan codex were distorted into an ugly snarl.   
  


Britt looked down at her. "Are you in charge of this?"   
  


"I am," she stated, looking Reid directly in the eye. There was something in the depths of his stormy, grey eyes that frightened her. She quickly looked away.   
  


"I'll make a deal with you. Tell your people to leave now, and I'll allow you and some of your friends to air your grievances on my television station."   
  


Considering his offer, the woman looked back at her fellow protesters and the surrounding onlookers. As the protesters had expected, most of the networks had sent their crews to cover the demonstration while the police still had not arrived. The plan would fail if she was not able to maintain control of the protesters who were already commenting on the fairness of the publisher's proposal. She needed some time to think.   
  


"I am making a most reasonable offer," Britt prodded. "You and your people will have the chance to reach millions of people. That is the purpose of your demonstration, isn't it?"   
  


"And of course, you can then go about publishing your precious rag."   
  


"Right. We will both benefit. What is your answer?" he pressed.   
  


"I'll give you my answer after I have talked to the others. Unlike the way you Imperialist pigs run things, they have the right to be a part of the decision making," she said contemptuously. "But," she added, "We will allow you to enter the building unmolested."   
  


Britt bit off a sarcastic remark and instead bowed slightly in agreement. "Thank you. When you have made your decision, you can come up to the eighth floor and I will put you on the air." He signaled for one guard to lead and for the other to follow, while Lee moved to his side.   
  


The normally short walk to the front door seemed to be taking forever. The air crackled with tension as they passed through the narrow gap opened by the demonstrators. Britt tried to ignore their barely audible curses, but he could sense Lee's frustration beside him. One of the demonstrators spat at Lee's feet and he had to restrain him with a sharp word.   
  


Out of the corner of his eye Britt could see the demonstrators closing behind them. The only way open was forward. Suddenly the lead guard, struck unconscious by a stone buried in a rotten tomato, fell heavily backward against Britt, knocking him to the ground. Britt snatched at the man's shirt and pulled him off, but not in time to stop Lee from chasing the fleeing attacker.   
  


Lee swept through the picketers like a harvester's scythe as rotten missiles rained down over him. He kicked and punched anyone who got in his way, not noticing that as he advanced they flowed around him like an amoeba, separating him from Britt and the remaining guard. 

After ordering the remaining guard to stay with the fallen man, Britt dove after Lee, but quickly lost him as the protesters flowed between them. Trying to clear a way through the crowd, Britt jammed the end of his sturdy cane into the soft belly of one man and then slammed it into the face of another. He tried to parry a sign aimed at his head, but his shoulder was struck a glancing blow form behind by the edge of another one, sending pain shooting through his arm and back. Fruitlessly trying to stay on his feet, Britt smashed his fist into the face and body of anyone within his reach, but under the steady onslaught of signs and fists, his knees buckled. He landed under the stomping feet of his tormentors. Not yet defeated, he continued kicking and pulling at legs, trying to get back to his feet.   
  


Britt caught the brilliant glint on the long blade of a knife, but could not move fast enough to bring his good arm up to shield his chest from its ripping impact. Suddenly his attacker screamed and clutched at his own arm, dropping the knife moments before it reached its target. Gasping for breath, Britt watched a short, stocky man melt back into the crowed which was beginning to slowly dissipate, their enthusiasm for the demonstration oddly forgotten.   
  


Lee trotted to Britt's side. "Are you okay?"   
  


"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered, still trying to catch his breath. "How about you and the others?"   
  


"I'm okay. I got a few scratches and bruises, but I gave as good as I got," Lee said proudly. "One of those security guys might have a concussion, but he's being taken care of." Absently he began kicking at some of the debris at his feet. "I guess I kind of got in over my head," he remarked glumly.   
  


"More like you lost it completely."   
  


"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just that I couldn't stand it anymore. And after they hit that guy . . . " He forcefully kicked an upturned crate that was still half full, spilling its contents into the air.   
  


"Looking for something?" Britt remarked wryly.   
  


"Yeah, I kind of lost something. It should be around here somewhere."   
  


"Did you notice where it fell?"   
  


"No. There were too many people around."   
  


"It was one of your father's darts." Britt said, knowing even without asking that it was.   
  


Lee nodded unhappily. "I didn't mean to use it."   
  


Tired and sore, Britt blew up, "You didn't mean to? Damn it, Lee. You're always doing things you didn't mean to. You have got to learn to use your head."   
  


"I'm sorry I goofed."   
  


"Sorry's not going to cut it anymore. It won't get this mess cleaned up, and it won't fix those damn broken windows. It's about time you start using your head for something other than keeping your ears from sticking together."   
  


"I saved your life!" Lee shouted defensively. "Doesn't that count for anything?"   
  


Britt looked evenly at him, his voice deathly quiet, "At what cost, Lee? At what cost?"   
  


Lee couldn't answer and dejectedly watched Reid walk back to the Sentinel. He felt horribly lost and alone. He had no idea what he could do or where he would go, if he could not heal the rift between him and the older man.   
  


Britt looked back at Lee as he opened the front door. "Are you coming?" he asked.   
  


Brightening instantly, Lee hurried to the door, but a glimpse of thin plastic caught his eye. "Wait a minute, sir." He kicked away a broken discarded sign and proudly held up his prize. "Here's your suit. It looks okay to me," he said hopefully as he examined it.   
  


Britt nodded and looked down at his stained and torn clothing. "I certainly hope so. What I'm wearing now is only good for the rag pile, if that."   
  


Far off in the distance Britt could hear the wail of police sirens. "Great timing," he commented. "After all the damage has been done, they finally decide it might be a good idea to get here."   
  


"Shouldn't we wait for them?" Lee asked, following Britt into the building.   
  


"No. If they want to talk to me, they'll have to come up to my office. They took their own sweet time getting here. They can cool their heels until I'm ready to talk to them, and not before."   
  


When the elevator reached their floor, Britt stepped out first. "I don't feel like answering questions right now. We'll go through the anteroom's door instead of through the City Room."   
  


Lee almost stepped on Britt's heels when the older man stopped abruptly just inside the door. "Who are you?" Britt demanded, "Where's the girl that's usually here?"   
  


"I'm Linda Travis. I was just hired yesterday. Jennie had called and said that she was too scared to come in. Since I was one of the few secretaries who did come in, I was sent up here," she explained as she grabbed the phone that was ringing demandingly. After answering it, she pushed the hold button. "It's been ringing like that all day long, sir. It's Mr. Rather from CBS. He wants to talk to you about the footage showing you fighting the demonstrators."   
  


"Tell him I'll call him back in a few hours."   
  


"There have also been calls from NBC, ABC, CNN and just about everybody else in the media." 

The other line rang and she moved to grab it, but Britt laid his hand over hers. "Let me take this one." He lifted the receiver and listened a moment. "Police Commissioner Smith, just the person I want to talk to. I have something to say about how late your people were today. What do you mean they couldn't get here any sooner? All the networks were able to make it. I find it hard to believe that the police couldn't. Their job is to protect everyone, not just the people City Hall gets along with. If you think I've embarrassed you before, just wait until I get to the bottom of why the police took their time getting here."   
  


He listened angrily for a moment at the Police Commissioner's heated denial. "If anything ever happens like this again, I'll turn City Hall completely inside out and I'll shake out everyone that is even the least bit shady there. I know how to find the skeletons and when I do I'll show them to the entire world. No, Commissioner, I'm not making a threat. I'm making a goddamn promise. Good day!" he growled, slamming down the receiver. He dialed the operator. "This is Mr. Reid. I won't be taking any more. Give them to Dunigan or PR. I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the day." He slammed down the phone. "Now about you, Miss Travis . . . " he began.   
  


"Mr. Reid? What about Mr. Rather?" she interrupted. 

Britt glanced down at the phone and watched the blinking hold button. It blinked twice and then went dark. "It appears that we don't have to worry about Mr. Rather. Now, Miss Travis, do you have any experience in the newspaper business?"   
  


"Yes. I worked as Mr. Crawford's personal secretary for five years."   
  


"Five years? You must have had the patience of a saint to work for Crawford that long." Britt regarded her, eyes narrowing as he searched his memory. "Travis? Now I remember why your name sounded familiar. You're a friend of Ed Lowrey's, aren't you?"   
  


"We dated a few times," she said nervously.   
  


"Then you must be Ed's connection at the Clarion."   
  


"I've done a few favors for him in the past." She shrugged her shoulders unhappily. "That's why I got canned a few days ago."   
  


"I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm glad to see you were able to find a job here."   
  


"I'm glad too, Mr. Reid."   
  


"Good." Then becoming all business, Britt said, "Get out your steno pad. I have a lot of things for you to do. A research group has set up shop at a place called Fort Bradford. I want you to find out the name of the director there and make an appointment for me to speak to him tomorrow. Also, call our morning traffic copter pilot and reporter. I want to talk to them in about an hour, and remind them not to show anyone the film they took this morning."   
  


"Film, Mr. Reid?"   
  


"They'll know what I'm talking about. I also want you to put out a memo that I will be having a staff-wide meeting in the commissary in about an hour and a half. Also, my young friend here needs a change of clothes and a shower. Has anyone shown you the employee locker room yet?"   
  


"No, sir," she replied.   
  


"Okay, well, ask one of the reporters in the City Room to help him out. Now is there anything else that needs to be taken needs to be taken care of before I take my shower?"   
  


Linda hurriedly searched the stack of notes on her desk. "No . . . , Wait. Yes, here's a note from the Philo Rivers show. They want to have you on their show tomorrow. It's on integrity in journalism."   
  


"Call them back and tell them I wouldn't be on that show even if God was going to be on with me," Britt said acidly.   
  


"In those exact words, Mr. Reid?" she asked.   
  


"No, better not. I'm sure I can trust you to phrase it more politely."   
  


"Britt," Mike Axford said as he stormed in the anteroom, "You better rethink about going on Rivers' show."   
  


Britt shook his head tiredly. Mike was all he needed right now. "Miss Travis, this is Michael Axford. He is one of the people you must bar from my office at all costs."   
  


"Aw, Britt, this is serious," Axford protested, "You got to listen to me."   
  


"Why?" Britt demanded.   
  


"'Cause it's about the Green Hornet."   
  


"Mike! I have had it up to here about the Green Hornet. I don't want to hear one more word about him."   
  


"But Britt!"   
  


"Not one word!"   
  


Axford flashed open the newspaper he held in his hand. "I'm not the one bringing it up. The Clarion's doing it. They got a full spread on the Hornet. They're claiming that you're him!"   
  


"What?" Britt exclaimed, snatching the luridly illustrated tabloid out of Axford's hands.   
  


"They're claiming that they have proof that the Hornet's not dead and that you're him 'cause you were wounded on the same night he was. Rivers going to have a live show on it and he's going to have Crawford and De la Culebra on with the proof. Britt, you got to show those damn liars that they're full of bull, that you're not the Hornet. If you don't go on, they'll have you convicted in front of millions of people."   
  


"Damn," Britt cursed. Today was not his day. "Okay, Miss Travis, go ahead and find out what Rivers wants and get me all the necessary information I'll be needing. Mike, leave me that rag and I'll look through it, and why don't you make yourself useful and help Lee, here, round up some clean clothes and show him the showers."   
  


Axford stared at Britt and Lee, noticing for the first time that their clothes stank like a garbage can. "Looks like the old days all over again," he remarked wryly. "The boy's got the same talent for getting you into trouble that his old man did. C'mon kid, I got my orders. Let's see what we can do."   
  


Britt watched Lee reluctantly walk out his office behind Axford. Linda caught the tiredness flash across his solid features before he could hide it from her. "Mr. Reid, I think I understand everything you need me to do," she said helpfully.   
  


"I appreciate your willingness to take care of a very difficult task on your first day," he said. "I'll leave everything in your capable hands while I get cleaned up."   
  


Many hours later, Britt watched the sun setting from his office window. It had been a very long, hard day. He was glad to see it end. He rolled his head, trying to work out the ache in the back of his neck and shoulders. Earlier, when he had called Casey to tell her that he was safe, she had wanted to come down to the paper, especially after hearing that a newcomer had been given the assignment of serving as his secretary for the day, but he had convinced her that she should stay at the house and keep an eye on Lowrey. Now he wished she had let him change his mind and had allowed her to come in. Her strong fingers always were able to work out the worst kinks. No matter how bad they were.   
  


"Mr. Reid?" Lee said quietly, not wanting to disturb Britt's contemplation of the scarlet sunset. "I'm ready if you are."   
  


"Then let's go. There's no point in hanging around here. I've done everything I can do today," Britt said, wearily reaching for his cane. "Tomorrow's another day and it's going to be a rough one. I might as well grab what rest I can now."   
  


"Have you figured out what you're going to do on Rivers' show?"   
  


"Not a thing. I wish I knew what kind of proof Crawford has that he's been boasting about in that rag of his."   
  


"Crawford sure has it in for you."   
  


"We've been serious rivals ever since the Clarion failed as a daily and was turned into a weekly tabloid by the people who bought it."   
  


"But why the big push now?"   
  


"I think the honorable Senator De la Culebra is egging him on. Just like those demonstrators today."   
  


"You could bring in that film your traffic reporter took of that copter trying to shoot you and Mr. Lowrey down. Along with those papers Mr. Lowrey has, you could silence Crawford and De la Culebra very quickly," Lee suggested.   
  


"I wish it was that simple, but what I have may not be compelling enough. It won't be enough to draw the attention away from Crawford's and De la Culebra's suggestion that I might be the Green Hornet."   
  


"Your talk with the staff went over really well."   
  


"It would look like it, but I could see that all concern about the riot had taken a back seat to those rumors being spread by the Clarion. I didn't have any answers for the questions I saw in their eyes. And I won't have any for Rivers' show."   
  


He picked up the tabloid on his desk. It was opened to a large full color spread showing the frozen, contorted bodies of the gangsters that had tried to kill the Green Hornet. There was also a photo showing a bloodstained trail that led to a large boulder. A thickly outlined sidebar on the same page described the seemingly coincidental attempt on the Daily Sentinel's publisher's life. No connection was explicitly made between the two events, but what it implied was obvious. "I thought I had put my past behind me. I had hoped that if I ignored it long enough, it would just go away. Now, it's coming back to haunt me."   
  


"I'm sorry I ever came here. You and Mrs. Reid don't deserve this."   
  


Britt crumpled the paper and threw it into the wastebasket. "It's too late for regrets. All we can do is make the best of it. Look at it this way. If you hadn't come to me, De la Culebra might have continued his crooked scheme undetected until it was too late."   
  


"Maybe it's too late already. You and your paper will probably be destroyed even if Crawford can't positively prove that you were the Hornet. And De la Culebra will become President."   
  


"Don't give up yet, young man. I'm not ready to throw in the towel, yet."   
  


"The Black Beauty's almost ready . . . "   
  


"We've been over that before," Britt warned, "I'm too tired to have to go all over it again."   
  


"Yes, sir. It's just that I thought . . . "   
  


"I know what you thought and you're dead wrong. I don't need the Green Hornet to stop De la Culebra. I have plenty of other resources at hand. I haven't needed the Hornet for a long time and I don't need him now."   
  


"I guess you're right," Lee said, not totally convinced.   
  


"Of course I'm right."   
  


Dropping the subject for later, Lee said, "Mr. Reid, I'm afraid that with all the excitement, I forgot to bring your car to the newspaper. If you want to wait a few minutes, I can go get it."   
  


"Don't worry about it. It looks like a pleasant night for a short walk. I've been sitting in that damn chair all day. I need to get out and stretch my legs a little."   
  


It was a softly warm night. The kind of night found when the weather is momentarily poised between the oppressively humid heat of midsummer and the bitter cold of late fall. Britt gazed wistfully at the park across the street as he and Lee left the Sentinel building. There had been many nights when he and Casey would walk through it, talking about nothing in particular, just being happy to be together. Britt felt lonely even with Lee beside him. He wished that Casey was with him instead.   
  


They were almost to the car when a harsh voice barked from the shadows of an alley. "Get inta here you two. And no funny stuff either." Two men holding guns edged into the light of a nearby street light. Britt could see more silent, threatening figures waiting further back in the dark. He recognized the leader as the bogus ranger, Martinez, the same man that had tried to kill him during the riot.   
  


"What do you want?" Britt demanded. His answer was a sharp blow against his jaw from the butt of the leader's gun, slamming him to his knees. Lee yelled, snatching away the other gunman's weapon. Before he could aim it, he was roughly grabbed by the other thugs in the alley.   
  


"Cool it, Lee!" Britt ordered the struggling young man. He gingerly touched his bruised jaw. "This isn't a mugging, so what do you want? Besides roughing us up, that is."   
  


"You're real smart, aren't cha old man," sneered Martinez. "An' if yer really, really smart, you'll listen real hard to what I have to say to ya." He threw down an envelope. "Take a good look at these, old man."   
  


Britt pulled out some photographs. Some of them were of a young blonde man with the streets of a bombed out city in the background. The photos had been taken with a telephoto lens. Across each was drawn a crude set of cross hairs. Britt's hands began to shake with suppressed anger as he pulled out another set of photos. Similarly drawn with the crude cross hairs these showed a pretty dark-haired girl curled in a chair in an apartment. "You recognize 'em, old man? They're yer kids."   
  


"I know that," Britt interrupted heatedly.   
  


"Yeah, an' ya know yer boy's in a real dangerous part of the world. A stray bullet from nowhere and the world would be short a pesky news hound. Happens all the time. Now yer girl. She's a mighty good lookin' chick. Shame if somebody took it inta their head to have a little 'fun' with her." Martinez laughed obscenely, "'Course from her point of view, it might not be so much fun."   
  


"What do you want?" Britt gritted.   
  


"Just this, old man, you keep yer nose outa things. Yer walkin' on thin ice, an' disturbin' people who don't want to be bugged. So lay off. Yer man by the name of Lowrey took some stuff. We don't want it made public. So why don'cha be real smart an' be a good daddy an' burn them papers."   
  


"And if I don't my children will be hurt."   
  


"Yeah, an' maybe yer pretty wife too. She's a little old fer my taste, but there's guys who like older dames," Martinez threatened. "I think though you need a little lesson. Ta see we ain't kiddin'." Martinez slammed a thick knee into Britt's face. Before the publisher could roll out of the way, Martinez landed heavily on his stomach. He grabbed Britt's right wrist and slammed his hand sharply against the rough asphalt, forcing it open. "Come 'ere Joey. I need yer cigar fer a minute." Martinez held the cigar's glowing tip in front of Britt's eyes. "Drop yer' investigation or a lot worse is gonna happen," he said, rubbing out the burning tip in Britt's open palm. Britt screamed and thrashed under Martinez' heavy weight. He could hear Lee's curses echo somewhere out of his sight.   
  


"Shut that damn kid up!" Martinez shouted as he rose from his victim's abdomen.   
  


"How?"   
  


Martinez drew out his gun, aiming it at the outraged Lee. "Do I have ta do everythin'?" he said as his finger tightened on the trigger.   
  


"No!" Britt screamed, hurling himself at Martinez' knees. The two men fell down together in a tangle of arms and legs. Taking advantage of his captors' shock, he threw one against the wall and elbowed another in the stomach and then quickly dispatched him with a sharp chop to the neck. Britt had Martinez beneath him and was tuning the man's face into hamburger with one hard-fisted blow after another. The remaining thug retrieved a fallen gun, but before he could fire, Lee grabbed his gun hand and threw him into the street like a sack of garbage. Lee turned to help Britt, but was amazed to find him on his feet, lifting his captive against the wall with his injured hand.   
  


"I want some answers. Now!" Britt growled, slamming Martinez' head forcefully against the rough wall. "Is De la Culebra behind this?"   
  


Martinez' bloody mouth set into a tight line. "I ain't talkin'. Ya can't make me."   
  


Britt's eyes narrowed. "You see him?" he gestured with a tilt of his head toward Lee. "Some of your pals killed his father, who also happened to be a very good friend of mine. But that's not the point. What is important is that orientals take it very seriously when you kill a relative of theirs. You see, it becomes a matter of honor. I've heard of people waiting decades until they could get their revenge. Now this young man, this 'boy' he doesn't have to wait. I could stand aside and let him take his revenge or I could stop him. It's all up to you, but I am warning you that I am seriously thinking about letting him do whatever he wants. He could kill you with a single blow, or do it so slowly that you'd be begging to be killed. It's up to you, but I'm hoping you don't talk. I don't like my family being threatened. I might even help him."   
  


Martinez' eyes darted from Reid to Lee. He saw no mercy in either man's eyes. Not in Reid's arctic blue or the stygian depths of Lee's dark eyes. "I...I'd be killed if I talk," he whimpered.   
  


Lee picked up a discarded knife and threw it so forcefully that it buried itself up to its hilt in the window sill next to Martinez' head. "You'll be killed if you don't," Britt growled, again slamming the thug's head against the wall.   
  


"You can't!" Martinez squeaked fearfully.   
  


"Why?" Britt demanded harshly.   
  


"'Cause yer ah, yer ah . . . It ain't the way it's supposed to be. Yer supposed to be a solid citizen. Yer supposed ta turn me in ta the cops or somethin' law abidin' like that. 'Sides there's witnesses. The guys would talk," he protested.   
  


Britt snorted in derision, "It'd be my word against theirs. Who do you think will be believed?"   
  


Martinez stank in fear. He was used to being the victimizer, not the victim. Reid was not acting the way he should. "Okay, okay. I'll talk," he gurgled as Reid tightened his hold on his throat.   
  


"Who sent you?" Reid demanded.   
  


"Miles. Matthew Miles sent me."   
  


"Senator De la Culebra's brother-in-law?"   
  


"I dunno. I don't know who's his fucking relatives are."   
  


"You're telling me that Miles is in charge of this entire scheme?" Reid demanded, slamming Martinez' head against the wall with each word as emphasis. "You lie!" he growled. "Miles doesn't have the brains to get out of the rain, never mind running an operation this size."   
  


"I swear. I'm tellin' you the fuckin' truth!"   
  


"Tell me about the South American."   
  


"South American?" Martinez squealed as Reid tightened his grip meaningfully. "Okay, okay. He's some kind of general from Columbia. He has the bright idea that he's gonna free his country from the drug lords with the guns that he's buyin' with the coke he's givin us."   
  


"So you use the money from the marijuana you grow to buy the guns which you turn around and sell to the general for his coke," Reid prompted.   
  


"I dunno," Martinez began. Reid's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, yeah, I guess that's the way it's run. I dunno," he squeaked, "I'm nothin' but a fuckin' flunky. They don't tell me nothin'."   
  


"They!" Reid growled. "You said they. Who else besides Miles?"   
  


"Miles and the General . . . "   
  


"And who else?"   
  


"Some dame!"   
  


"What dame! What's her name?"   
  


"I dunno. I ain't seen her much. I don' know nothin' about her 'cept when she's around Miles listens real close to her like she's runnin' things. Maybe he's her lover. I dunno. They seemed real sweet on each other."   
  


"What does she look like?"   
  


"A real class dame. A real looker. She's got this red hair, it's like it's on fire. She's got this pale skin like she never goes inta the sun. And she's got a bod . . . "   
  


"Enough. I know who she is," Reid interrupted impatiently. Finally satisfied, he released the frightened thug. "Don't tell your bosses a word," he warned.   
  


"I ain't gonna tell them nothin'. They'd kill me. I ain't gonna talk. I swear."   
  


"Good," Britt said smoothly, giving an imperceptible nod to Lee. With blinding speed Lee's hand flashed and Martinez crashed to the ground like a lightning struck oak.   
  


Lee gazed at the fallen men at their feet. "Looks like a good catch for the cops."   
  


"The cops aren't going to get them."   
  


"What? Aren't you going to turn them over to the police? With what they know, you should be able to connect De la Culebra with that drugs and guns scheme."   
  


"It wouldn't work. The only one who knows anything is Martinez. He won't talk to the cops, and he'll be out on bail before we even get home."   
  


"But you can't just let them go," Lee protested.   
  


"What do you think I should do?"   
  


Lee shrugged. "I don't know. It's just not right to let them go scott free. Especially that Martinez. He's trouble, Mr. Reid. He's afraid of us now, but once he's free he could make a lot of trouble for you."   
  


"I know, but there's nothing else I can do. Let's go home, I'm beat," Britt said tiredly, turning his back on the fallen thugs.   
  


Lee remained silent as he drove Britt home. He could see that something was deeply troubling the older man. Occasionally he would see Reid study the ugly burn in his palm and then slowly make a fist. "Mr. Reid, don't you think you should have somebody take a look at that. That burn looks bad."   
  


"I'll take care of it at home," Britt said quietly. "They're getting too close. They've threatened my family now. I have to draw their attention away, make them think about something else," he said, more to himself than to Lee.   
  


"Sir?"   
  


Very quietly, almost too low for Lee to hear, Britt said, "You said the Black Beauty is almost ready."   
  


Lee gulped nervously. "There's just a few things I need to do and she'll be as good as new."   
  


"Can you make it ready for tomorrow night?"   
  


"Tomorrow?" Lee croaked.   
  


"That's what I said."   
  


"Sure I can. It's just that I don't know if I'm ready."   
  


"Not ready? Are you having second thoughts after all this? Isn't this what you've been pushing for all this time? You weren't fixing the Black Beauty up just so that you could take joy rides in it, were you?"   
  


"No. I wasn't. It's just that your decision is so sudden. Maybe it's not necessary. Like you said earlier, you have plenty of other resources. Maybe you don't need to use the Green Hornet."   
  


"Afraid?"   
  


Lee swallowed hard, making a painful admission, "Yeah, I guess I am. When I first got here, I thought it was going to be so simple. I'd just get the Black Beauty and blast those guys out of existence. But now, because of me, you've been hurt, your family been threatened and all I've managed to do it foul things up. I haven't done a single thing right. How can I even dare think of filling my father's shoes? I'll never be as good as he was. I don't have the guts you have, or that my father did. Once you told me to never question your courage until I had someone point a gun at my gut. Tonight that happened to me. I was scared to death. What if we got out tomorrow night and I fail? I could get killed or worse, you could get killed and it'd be all my fault."   
  


"You're underestimating yourself. You did very well back there. You're improving all the time."   
  


"Not fast enough to be any good to you."   
  


Britt sighed, looking again at the painful burn in his palm. "I was wrong. I need the Green Hornet. He the only one who can distract De la Culebra from Britt Reid. All the proof I have against him is useless. Right now it only serves as a weapon against me. If De la Culebra's attention is not turned away from Britt Reid; Casey, and my children could be killed, or worse. The Hornet's the only thing I can think of. If you don't think you can handle covering my back like Kato did, I'll have to go it alone."   
  


"You could get killed!"   
  


"That's all together possible," Britt said calmly.   
  


"I want to help you. I really do, but I'm not brave like you or my father. I'm afraid to die," Lee confessed.   
  


"Being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid to die. A brave man fears dying as much as a coward. It's a lot more than being without fear. It's about doing what you have to do even though you're afraid. You just don't let fear stop you from doing what you must. Years ago, I almost died. I don't care to come that close again, but if I have to face that possibility again to protect my family, to stop De la Culebra, I will."   
  


"Maybe you're right. I don't know. I need some time to think about it," Lee said.   
  


"Here's the house now. After you park the car, why don't you get some shut-eye? Casey and I have a lot to talk about tonight."   
  


"You're going to go through with it no matter what I decide?"   
  


"Yes."   
  


"Then I would be honored to act as your driver," Lee said very formally.   
  


"I am honored to accept your gracious offer," Britt said equally formally, but the bright glint in his eyes belied the formality. _The boy's going to do just fine_, Britt thought to himself. Now if he could just get past the next big obstacle, Casey.   
  


  
  


"Have you gotten much out of those yet?" Casey asked softly as she entered the study. Most of the room was dark except for the single lamp on Britt's desk and the flickering flames in the fireplace.   
  


"It confirms what I knew all along that Matthew Miles is involved in a drugs and guns scheme. Unfortunately Kato and Sheriff Tankowski weren't able to find positive proof of De la Culebra's involvement," Britt answered, pushing his chair back and reaching for the brandy snifter near his right hand.   
  


"So there's nothing you can do with them," she asked.   
  


"I can't see how I'd be able to put them to use. There's nothing else yet I can find that will support what these papers describe. If it was somebody else besides a U.S. senator, a presidential candidate at that, perhaps I could do more with them, but right now my hands are tied."   
  


Spotting a set of photographs on his desk, Casey picked them up and began shuffling through them. "These are of the kids," she said, shocked at the cross hairs drawn on them. "Where did you get them?"   
  


"A bunch of thugs jumped us. Their job was to deliver those photos. And a threat."   
  


Concerned, Casey watched him pour more of the amber liquid into his glass. "What are you planning on doing about it?"   
  


"There's not much I can do, at least not as a newspaper publisher."   
  


"But there's a lot you could do as the Green Hornet," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.   
  


Britt nodded reluctantly. "I have no choice. I keep on trying to think of some other way, but I keep on hitting a dead end. Anything I do as Britt Reid will be noticed by the Senator and his people. You or the kids could get hurt." He drained his glass, feeling the sharp warmth of the expensive brandy burn his throat as it went down. He reached for the bottle again.   
  


Casey placed her hand over his, stopping him from pouring another glassful. "That's not going to help you think, dear."   
  


"I haven't drank that much. I can handle it. It helps me relax a little."   
  


"When are you planning to go out?" she asked, holding his hand in hers. Suddenly she gasped, noticing the dark burn in his palm. "Where did you get this?"   
  


"That was part of the message," he said grimly as he gently removed his injured hand.   
  


"You should've told me. I'm going to get some salve and gauze and take care of that right now."   
  


"Don't bother. It's fine." He clenched his fist. "See it doesn't hurt at all."   
  


"After all of that 'pain killer', small wonder," she said dubiously, her eyes measuring what was left in the decanter.   
  


"You don't seem that surprised that I've decided to become the Hornet again. I would've expected you to be furious, or afraid. Something."   
  


"I've been expecting it ever since Lee showed up at the Sentinel." She bit her lip, and softly added, "Ever since that doctor said that you would live, I kept on expecting it to happen. It was only a matter of time."   
  


"Then have I been fooling myself all these years? Have I been that transparent?" he said bitterly as he rose from his chair and began to pace before the fireplace. He gazed up at the painting of the masked rider. "He never had any problems like this. All the decisions he had to make were simple and straightforward. He never had to worry about a business or a family. He didn't have either. He was completely free to do whatever he felt he needed to do."   
  


Casey grabbed him and looked deeply into his eyes. "I remember you once told me that he said that your coming to live with him at his ranch after your mother died was the best thing to happen to him in a very long time. That your coming there brought new life into what was a very lonely existence."   
  


Britt looked down into her warm brown eyes. "I have been lucky, haven't I? I got you and I got the kids. I would die to protect you all." He took a deep breath. "I should be grateful that you're so understanding. I don't think most women would be. They'd be terrified of what might happen."   
  


"I didn't say that I wasn't afraid. If anything ever happened to you, I'd just die. I don't think I could live without you, but I know I can't stand in your way. I know you wouldn't be doing it if there was another way. I'm not going to make it any harder for you than it already is. Whatever you do, I'll help you anyway I can." She hugged him with all her strength. "At least we have tonight."   
  


He gently lifted her chin and kissed her. "Yes, we do have tonight," he said, slipping the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders. With a soft sigh she melted into his strong arms and slipped her hands beneath his shirt and across his broad back.   
  


Moments later his clothing joined the nightgown in front of the fireplace as their growing passions burned as hotly as the flames that lit the room with a flickering light. Like first-time lovers they explored each other's body, rediscovering the curves and valleys that they had come to know as well as their own. In perfect harmony they moved together, becoming one in their love as they climbed from one orgasmic peak to another. Each one was higher than the other until the pleasure became almost to great to bear. Then with a single primal scream they soared to the greatest climax and fell together into an exhausted, panting heap.   
  


"You're incredible," Britt panted, trying to catch his breath.   
  


"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Reid," she laughed. She took his right hand, turned it palm up, and examined the burn. "How does it feel?" she asked worriedly.   
  


Britt retrieved his hand, and flexed it slowly, trying not to grimace at the pain. "See? Doesn't hurt at all," he lied. "Making out is a great painkiller."   
  


She laughed gently. "Wasn't that what you told the doctor when he found us together in your hospital bed?"   
  


"Yeah, and he said that considering the change in my attitude, he was going to prescribe sex for more of his patients." He ran a finger lightly down her belly. "The twins got something of an early start that night."   
  


"The day-counters sure got upset when their birth date didn't quite mesh with the date of our wedding," she remarked, remembering the glares she had received from the self-appointed guardians of society's morals. She rolled to retrieve her nightgown, bringing it between them. "Why don't we go to the bedroom. The bed's a lot softer," she suggested.   
  


Britt gently took the nightgown out of her hands and wrapped his arms around her. "I don't know about that. I kind of like it here," he said as he nibbled on her shoulder and began working down to between her breasts.   
  


She twined her fingers into his unruly silver-grey hair, bringing his head up so that she could gaze into the smoky depths of his pale eyes. "You're impossible."   
  


He rolled onto his back, bringing her up on top of him. "Now aren't I a lot softer than any old bed?"   
  


"Not all of you," she teased, grasping his narrow hips between her legs.   
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


III   
  
  
  
  
  


Hours later, Casey pulled the cover over her shoulder with a shiver. She was surprised that Britt had carried her to bed after she had fallen asleep. She propped herself onto an elbow and gazed fondly into her husband's face as he laid peacefully sleeping. How strange, she thought, how much younger he looked when the lines of care that etched his rugged features were relaxed in sleep. Running a finger along his sandpaper rough cheek, she thought about the first time they met so very long ago. 

  
  
  
  


Her enthusiasm for her new job was quickly waning. It had been a very long month, what with moving into a new apartment in a new city and starting a new job at the same time, she was thoroughly exhausted. She was trying to grab what little rest she could during her lunch break when a deep masculine voice broke through her mental fog. "Mind if I join you? Most of the other tables are full."   
  


She looked up into the most compelling eyes she had ever seen. They were a clear Caribbean turquoise framed with thick black lashes. _Why_, she thought as she made room for the tall dark-haired man, _was it always men that had lashes that most women wold kill for_. "Well, I guess so. I'm almost done though."   
  


"Please don't hurry for my sake," he said, settling his tray on the table.   
  


She looked at her watch. "My lunch hour is almost over."   
  


He placed a big brown hand over hers. "I'm sure it's okay if you stay a few minutes over."   
  


Quickly removing her hand, she replied icily, "I'm sure you can arrange it with the boss. Right?"   
  


"As a matter of fact I can," he admitted with an easy smile. "As the boss' son I do have a little leverage."   
  


"I can imagine how much, Mr. Reid," she said as she rose to leave.   
  


"Whoa, wait a minute, Miss. Please don't go off angry. Especially since I have no idea what I did wrong. Besides you have the advantage over me. It's obvious you know who I am, but like a fairy tale prince, I have no idea who you are," he said, trying to stop her from leaving.   
  


"Okay. My name is Lenore Case. You did nothing wrong and I mean to keep it that way. I am a new secretary here and while I am fully aware that you are Henry Reid's son, I would prefer to keep things on a strictly professional level. If you don't mind," she said as she tried to get past him.   
  


"I think you got me all wrong, Lenore."   
  


"Miss Case, Mr. Reid. I don't think I have you wrong at all. I've seen your type before and considering what I've heard about you, you're no different from all the others."   
  


"Perhaps, Miss Case, you should try to find things out for yourself, instead of listening to office gossip all the time," he said sharply.   
  


"And if I don't, will I be fired?" she asked equally sharply.   
  


"No, you wouldn't be fired. I don't have that kind of power. Even if I did I wouldn't use it to push myself on the female employees. I don't operate that way," he said firmly. "Somebody hurt you very badly, little lady, but I'm not him, so don't blame me for what he did."   
  


"Maybe not, but I do have to get back to work."   
  


"Okay, go back to work, but I would like to talk to you later. I like to personally know everyone who works for the Sentinel."   
  


"Wouldn't Anita mind you talking to other women?" she asked acidly.   
  


"Anita? Oh. The rumors again. Look, Anita and I have been dating quite a bit lately, but despite what she might be saying, we're not engaged. She doesn't own me, nobody does. I'm free to speak to and date, anybody I want to."   
  


"Then you better tell Anita that."   
  


"I have. Several times. But she still insists on saying that we're an item." 

"I can't help you there, Mr. Reid," she said coldly. "Now Good Day, sir. I really must get back to work." She left him standing at the table, but she could feel the eyes of the other diners watching her as she left the lunchroom.   
  


  
  


Anita Cravens approached Lenore as she sat down at her desk. "I saw you with Britt Reid in the lunchroom today," she said. "What were you talking about?"   
  


"He noticed that I was new here. Not that it's any of your business," she answered as she began putting a piece of paper into her typewriter.   
  


Anita angrily tore the paper out with enough force to send the roller spinning. "Now look here, little Miss know-it-all, you better keep you claws out of Britt, or so help me, you're going to be very, very sorry," she threatened in a low voice.   
  


Lenore grabbed the sheet of paper back. "I have no interest in you dear Britt Reid. You can have him, with my blessings. Now leave me alone, I have work to do."   
  


"You little snip. Just watch your step," Anita hissed, whirling away as their supervisor entered the room.   
  


Lenore could barely stop herself from shaking from the shocking encounter with Anita and after mumbling that she was fine to her supervisor's question she shakily walked to the ladies room for a good cry. She could not get over Anita's anger. That on top on a very difficult week made her think about repacking her things and go back home where she belonged instead of this big frightening city.   
  


Except that she wasn't about to show that horrid woman that she had won. After all hadn't Reid, himself, said that she didn't own him, that their relationship wasn't serious. She dried her tears, washed her face and reapplied her makeup. Some wit had once called it war paint, she thought as she critically checked her appearance in the washroom mirror. Well, that's what is was going to be, war paint. She would give that hussy a run for her money. She'd show that woman, that playboy Romeo and everyone else that nobody was going to take advantage of Lenore Case. Not it she had anything to say about it.   
  


She took a deep breath and walked out of the ladies room, prepared for anything except for Britt Reid waiting outside for her. "Mr. Reid! What are you doing here?"   
  


"I heard about what Anita said to you," he answered, moving to block her path. "She had no right to say those things."   
  


"I didn't realize that gossip moved so quickly here," she remarked, making no move to avoid him.   
  


He snorted derisively. "It moves fast here, but not that fast. Anita told me all about it herself."   
  


"Nice girl," she said, her voice dripping with contempt.   
  


"My feelings exactly, Miss Case." He dug into his coat pocket. "I was going to ask her to go with me to the Van Cliburn concert tonight, but all things considered, I've changed my mind. Would you like to go with me instead?" he offered.   
  


Sorely tempted, she searched his eyes for a few moments, perhaps he was sincere and yet . . . "I'm sorry, I can't."   
  


"Then you have other plans for tonight?"   
  


"No. I don't have any plans for tonight. It's been a very long week. All I want to do is go back to my apartment and get some rest. I'm sure you can take someone else."   
  


"I could, but I don't want to. We've gotten off on the wrong foot. I want to make it up to you somehow. Surely the idea of going out with me isn't that distasteful, is it?"   
  


No, she thought to herself, going out with him wouldn't be distasteful at all. Just like every girl's dream man, he was tall, dark and handsome. Very handsome. That and tickets to a Van Cliburn concert. Those were rare and expensive. Still . . . "I really wish I could go, Mr. Reid, but even if I wasn't so tired, I don't have anything right to wear to a concert." She gently placed a hand on his. "I'm sorry. I truly am," she said sincerely. He looked so downcast, one part of her brain wondered it he had ever gotten turned down before. She almost changed her mind.   
  


Then his face brightened. "How about a shopping trip?"   
  


"What?" she said in disbelief.   
  


"I'll help you get what you need. My treat."   
  


"Are you serious?"   
  


"Sure!"   
  


"But that's not proper."   
  


"Not proper? Why?"   
  


"A gentleman doesn't buy clothing for a lady. It's just not done."   
  


"Why don't we consider it as overtime pay?"   
  


"For what?" she asked sharply. Perhaps her first feelings about this man were right.   
  


"I'm going to have to write an article on the concert for the Arts section and I don't think it would look right to go stag. I need an escort. That escort can be you." A broad smile appeared on his face as if he was enjoying the cleverness of his own idea. "And of course, your ideas, your perspective from the feminine point of view will be invaluable. We can just consider the cost of getting you ready as a necessary expense."   
  


"Besides my opinion, what else are you considering as part of my evening duties?"   
  


"Nothing at all," he said charmingly, "Your honest opinion is all that I require. I won't even ask for a good night kiss. That would be unprofessional."   
  


She was beginning to weaken, after all what better way to show that Anita woman that she had not been scared off. And an evening with Britt Reid would be pleasant and to get some new clothes out of it as well . . . "It does sound okay, but . . . "   
  


"But what?"   
  


"The concert will probably be about seven and I get off around five. To go shopping, get my hair and makeup done, that will take more than two hours."   
  


"I'll arrange it with your supervisor for you to get the rest of the day off."   
  


"Oh, Mr. Reid, I don't know . . . "   
  


"Nonsense. R.H.I.P., you know. That's one of the few advantages I do have as the boss' son."   
  


  
  


The rest of the afternoon went by in a whirl as Britt Reid escorted her to the best dress shop in town, on to the hairdresser's and finally to a professional makeup session. With the city's most eligible bachelor as her escort, she felt like a fairytale princess.   
  


She had been nervous at first when they drove to his townhouse, but he was right. He had to get properly dressed as well. The house was immaculately kept and furnished in sleek Danish Modern. As she gazed at the books in the well-stocked bookcase, she sipped a light aperitif served by Reid's silent valet. A strange one, she thought, watching the oriental leave the room. She had never seen a real servant before but this young man was not at all what she had pictured. Although he was soft-spoken and perfectly mannered, his dark eyes had a feral gleam to them and he moved with panther-like grace. There was something about him that frightened her.   
  


"Sorry to take so long, Miss Case," Britt said as he came down the stairs into the livingroom.   
  


"That's okay, Mr. Reid. You have quite a selection of art," she said pointing to a primitive statue of a young girl wearing an enigmatic smile that stood next to a large brick fireplace that dominated the room.   
  


"It's a Kore, from the Greek Archaic period, around 600 B.C. I helped dig it up on a dig in Greece when I was in college. Well," he admitted candidly, "Actually it's a copy. The real one's in Athens, but it's a nice reminder anyway." He guided her to the front door. "I've borrowed my father's limo especially for the concert. My man, Kato, will be driving us there."   
  


"Oh, so that's his name?" she said lamely. "Uh, Mr. Reid, I hate to say this, I know it makes me sound silly, but he makes me uncomfortable," she admitted nervously.   
  


Britt laughed. "Don't worry about him, Miss Case. I'd trust him with my life. And I have, several times. Around him you're as safe as if you were in Fort Knox. Sometimes though, I think he likes to frighten my dates, just for the hell of it. He has a wicked sense of humor, so don't let him get to you."   
  


Kato smoothly opened the door of the long, white Lincoln Continental limousine for her. "Thank you, Kato," she said while she tried to check him out more thoroughly.   
  


His eyes flashed momentarily in amusement and then he was again the perfect manservant. "You're welcome, Miss," he said with an elaborate bow before trotting over to the other side to open the door for his employer.   
  


  
  


The concert was like a dream and Casey felt herself lost in the magic spell woven by the music. As they walked out, Britt quietly broke the spell, "I'm glad we went."   
  


"So am I," she murmured dreamily as she leaned against his shoulder.   
  


"Are you hungry?" he asked solicitously.   
  


"Why, yes, as a matter a fact now that you ask, I am," she replied, suddenly aware that her stomach was growling in a most unlady-like manner.   
  


"How about Dante's Palace?"   
  


"That place? I don't know. I've heard that it's terribly expensive and that it's supposed to be a front for an illegal gambling den."   
  


"The cost is well worth it, Miss Case. The food there is terrific. As for those rumors, they haven't stopped the cream of society from going there," Britt said convincingly.   
  


"No, I guess they haven't," she admitted reluctantly.   
  


He laughed. "Where's your sense of adventure, Miss Case? You'll enjoy it," he teased.   
  


"Okay, it's your quarter, "she said despite her misgivings.   
  


"Kato, Dante's Palace," he ordered through the limousine's intercom.   
  


"Yes sir, Mr. Reid," came the driver's voice. Lenore was not sure if she had really heard the excitement in the chauffeur's voice or not. She wondered if it was too late to back out and ask to go home.   
  


  
  


As they entered the door held by the uniformed doorman, she noticed the room was crowded for such a late hour. "Do you think we'll be able to get a table?"   
  


"We have reservations, or we will after I speak to the maitre d'."   
  


She watched disapprovingly while Britt pressed some money into the maitre d's hand. "Is that the way you always do things?"   
  


"Not always, but sometimes you have to grease somebody's palm to get what you want."   
  


"In other words, what's important is the result, not the means."   
  


Britt looked at her, his pale eyes flashing a moment in irritation. "For some results the only way to accomplish them is the unconventional," he answered, a slight harshness in his voice.   
  


Unfazed by the hardness in his voice, she pressed, "Even if they're illegal?"   
  


"If that's the only way."   
  


Suddenly frightened by this unexpected side to him, she quickly looked for a way to change the subject. "Oh, there's Mr. Scanlon, the new District Attorney."   
  


"I thought you were new in town," Britt remarked in surprise.   
  


"I am, but I read all about his campaign. In the Daily Sentinel, if fact. He's just the man to clean up this city. Maybe then it won't require doing things illegally to get results."   
  


"All he can do is prosecute. He doesn't do the arresting or the judging of criminals. If he doesn't have the evidence, they go free."   
  


"I see," she said. "Why don't we go talk with him for a minute?"   
  


"No."   
  


"Why?" she demanded.   
  


"Because here's our table. Let's not keep our waiter waiting."   
  


  
  


The meal as Britt had suggested was excellent. She quickly lost her initial discomfort under the influence of the expensive wine and Britt's sparkling conversation. He certainly knew how to carry on a conversation, making sure not to talk too much about himself and to ask her plenty of questions about herself. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about a wide variety of subjects. There were few lapses in the conversation except for when they were busy enjoying their dinner. As the empty plates were being cleared, Britt suggested, "Would you like to see what this place is so infamous about?"   
  


"I don't know," she said and found that she was giggling for no reason. The bubbling champagne had made her feel dizzy and perhaps more than a little reckless.   
  


"It could be fun," he said with a sly grin.   
  


Giddy with the wine and heavy from the rich meal, she nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Okay, but I don't have very much money."   
  


He pulled out a heavy wad of bills. "My treat, remember?" he signaled over the maitre d'. "My lady friend is curious about the entertainment in the backroom."   
  


The man's eyes slid over her and he smiled lecherously. "Of course, Mr. Reid, that should be acceptable to Mr. Dante. It is always a pleasure to host ladies as lovely as your date. I admire your taste."   
  


"Britt, that man leered at me." She blushed, trying to cover her cleavage with her light wrap.   
  


"Hasn't anyone ever leered at you, my dear?" Britt said in amusement.   
  


"Not outside of high school," she replied with a tipsy giggle.   
  


Britt laughed. "C'mon. I'll show you where all the swells blow their money."   
  


  
  


The hazy air on the room they were escorted to was filled with drunken laughter, the clatter of a roulette wheel and the droning spiel of the dealers. "Do you come here often?" she asked Britt, her eyes wide at the sight.   
  


"Nope. I usually fly to Las Vegas whenever I feel like gambling. At least there I have a chance of winning."   
  


"You mean people don't win here?" she asked, scandalized.   
  


"Only when the house wants them to."   
  


"Then why would anyone ever come here?"   
  


"I wish I knew why. Maybe people enjoy it because it's illegal."   
  


"There's so much stuff here. I can't see why the police haven't been able to raid this place."   
  


"They're very well organized. They have an informant on the police force. As soon as they get the word, everything disappears and the whole place turns into a private dining room."   
  


"So nothing can be done about it?"   
  


Britt's eyes glittered. "The police can't do anything without a can opener."   
  


"Huh?"   
  


"Never mind. Here's some money. Spread it around a little and don't worry about losing."   
  


She thumbed through the bills he handed her. "Uh, Mr. Reid?" she began, but he was already heading for the craps table before she could tell him that he had given her far too much money.   
  


The craps table looked too complicated for a beginner like herself she decided, but the wheel of chance looked simple enough. Unfortunately she won much less than she lost and became quickly bored. She watched the people pulling away at the dollar slots, but the idea of gambling away a week's pay in a few minutes was not her idea of enjoyment. She threaded her way to Britt's side at the craps table. "How are you doing?" she asked as the dealer handed him the dice.   
  


"Losing no more than usual," he replied under his breath. In a louder voice, he said, "Say honey, why don't you blow on these for good luck?" He grinned stupidly at the rest of the players. "Haven't had anything but bad so far."   
  


She looked at him quizzedly. "Blow on them?"   
  


He demonstrated by cupping the dice in a closed fist and blew through the hole where his thumb was. "Like this."   
  


She shrugged at the odd behavior and blew as he had shown her. Britt grinned again and threw the dice hard against the back wall of the table. They rebounded almost back to them and a pair of sixes rolled up on the dice. As the dealer pushed a large pile of bills and chips to him, the other players roared their approval. "Finally made my point," Britt told her when she started to ask him a question. "Tell the house thanks," he said, grabbing the money off the table and tossing a five-dollar chip to the dealer. "I think I'll keep my winnings and try my luck somewhere else."   
  


"You won!" she said in surprise. "Why didn't you keep on playing?" she asked as the players they had left began to scream and roar their encouragement to the next dice shooter. "It sounds like they're starting to win there now."   
  


Slyly Britt looked back at the table and whispered, "Probably the first time that table has ever seen honest dice."   
  


"You mean you switched the dice?"   
  


"Yeah, the old ones were loaded."   
  


"Oh. Then why didn't you stay there?"   
  


"It would've made them suspicious. Are you tired of playing already?"   
  


"Like you said, losing is very boring."   
  


Britt laughed. Leaning down to her, he said conspiratorially, "How about a little excitement?"   
  


"What do you mean?"   
  


"Stick with me and do like I say and you'll see. Or, if you're afraid, you can go out and ask Kato to take you home."   
  


"No. I want to see what you're up to."   
  


"Good girl. That's the spirit." He moved to the roulette wheel and placed some money on the table. The dealer spun the wheel and the watched as the released ball bounced on the spinning wheel until both came to a stop, not on Britt's number nor on anyone else's   
  


"Is this crooked too?" she whispered in his ear.   
  


"Yeah. Stay close to my side as I lean against the table," he said in a low voice as he placed some more money onto the table. "Let's try her again, Charley."   
  


Again the wheel was spun and again no one won. Then Lenore felt Britt's hand on her hip, but as she was about to protest his forwardness, she saw him slip a silver box beneath the table. She came closer until their hips touched. "Is that the cure for a crooked table?" she asked, feeling deliciously daring.   
  


"Now you're catching on, Miss Case." He tossed some more money on the table and again the wheel was spun. He didn't win, but to everyone else's surprise, including the dealer's, another player did.   
  


Britt moved on to the slots. "You know, I'm getting tired of calling you Miss Case all the time. It doesn't quite work on a date," he said, pulling out a gold cigarette case.   
  


"I thought I was on duty."   
  


"If you want to keep it that way, okay, but I still feel uncomfortable being so formal. It doesn't feel natural to me. You can call me Britt, if you like."   
  


"No. I think I'll keep calling you, Mr. Reid. Like I said before, I want to keep things on a professional level." She placed a hand on his forearm, feeling the iron muscle beneath the tuxedo's expensive material. "But you can call me Lenore, if you want."   
  


"Lenore . . . " he said the word slowly, like he was tasting it. "That reminds me of a poem by Poe. A dreary one, if I remember correctly." He studied her closely as he thought. "No, I can't think of you as a Lenore. Something else perhaps? Do you have a middle name?"   
  


"Evangeline."   
  


"Ugh, another name from another dreary poem. Were your parents English teachers?"   
  


"My mother is," she replied.   
  


He cocked his head thoughtfully. "How about another poem?"   
  


"Excuse me?"   
  


He grinned broadly. "I know just the one. 'Casey at the bat'," he said, proud of his own cleverness.   
  


"Excuse me?"   
  


"Casey? Do I look like a baseball player?" she said aghast, "I thought I was quite fetching in this dress."   
  


"My dear, you look most fetching in that dress. Enough to make me regret my promise not to ask for a goodnight kiss."   
  


"Then why Casey of all things?"   
  


"Because you're a lot of fun, and game for anything. That sounds like a Casey to me. Besides, don't you get it? Case...Casey."   
  


"I get that, but still, I don't know."   
  


"You'll get used to it, Casey," he replied as he began walking away from the slot machines.   
  


"Mr. Reid, you forgot your cigarette case," she reminded him.   
  


"Don't worry about it, I'm planning to quit tomorrow anyway," he said pulling her away before she could retrieve it. He pulled out a heavy antique pocket watch and checked the time. "I think it's about time for me to take you home."   
  


"What about the excitement you promised me?" she playfully teased.   
  


He winked at her as he placed a hand on the lever of a fire alarm box. "Don't worry, it's just about to begin," he said, suddenly pulling the lever as a loud bang and blinding flash erupted from the slot machines. A heavy black smoke engulfed the crowded room. Panicked patrons began running for the single exit where Britt and Casey stood. He quickly lifted her clear of the door, as frightened people rushed for the outside air. Above the screams, she heard police whistles and demands that everyone hit the deck.   
  


"My God!" she exclaimed, "It's a raid. And Mr. Scanlon is leading it. But how?" She stared open-mouthed at Britt Reid. "Did you have something to do with this?"   
  


He grinned back at her as he hurried her to the waiting limousine. "Let's move, Kato!" he ordered the driver as they scrambled into the back seat. The big car leapt out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a red Corvette. Bullets from the sports car ripped into the limousine's rear. "Damn!" Britt cursed. "Dante's made us. Lose 'em, Kato!"   
  


The oriental driver smiled grimly, relishing the excitement. "I'll give 'em a run for their money, Mr. Reid."   
  


Lenore screamed as bullets ripped across the windshield. Unfazed, the driver gunned the Lincoln ahead of the Corvette, but it easily kept up with them and edged closer as they slid around a tight corner. Lenore screamed again as she heard gunfire above the squealing tires and buried her head into Britt's shoulder.   
  


"We can't lose them this way, Kato," he said. "Head for police headquarters. We'll make a special delivery."   
  


"No way, Mr. Reid. This rig won't make it that far. It's pig iron already."   
  


"Damn!" Britt exclaimed as another spray of bullets hit their car. "Dad's going to have our hides anyway, ram the SOB," he ordered.   
  


Kato grimly nodded his answer and eased off the gas, allowing the Corvette to come beside them again. As it came near, he gave the steering wheel a hard twist. The heavy Continental swerved against the smaller car, shoving it up onto the sidewalk, and smashing it against a brick wall.   
  


"She's finished, Mr. Reid," Kato said as the big car shuddered in its death throes.   
  


Britt opened his door and lifted Lenore out onto shaky legs. "Go across the street, Casey, while we pull Dante and his man out of their car before it blows."   
  


She watched from the safety of the other side of the road as the two men pulled their attackers out of the crushed sports car. Somebody must have called the police, she could hear sirens coming toward them. Never had a siren sounded so sweet to her.   
  


After the police had arrived, Britt talked briefly with them before returning to Lenore's side with his man following close behind him. "I'm going to have to find a pay phone. Got a story to call in to the paper."   
  


"A story? Is that all you can think about? We were almost killed!"   
  


"I promised you excitement. Remember?" he said, completely unrepentant.   
  


"Excitement? Excitement! My God, Britt Reid, you're completely insane! And so is your friend here! I'm going home and if I ever see you again, it will be too soon!"   
  


"I'm afraid you will see me again. You work for my father's paper. Remember?" he said reasonably, seemingly unable to understand why she was so upset.   
  


"Don't remind me!" she screamed, walking away.   
  


"I'll take you home," he offered.   
  


She stared back at him, open-mouthed. "How? You destroyed your car!"   
  


"Uh, that is a problem, isn't it?" he said innocently.   
  


"A problem? You're impossible!"   
  


"Does that mean you're mad at me?"   
  


She screamed at the top of her voice.   
  
  
  


  
  


Casey smiled. It had been so long ago. She did finally forgive him, although it took a lot of flowers and candy to accomplish it. After a time, she was even able to laugh at that adventure, especially since she found out that it was more typical of him than the playboy act. They became steadily closer until everyone, including the elder Reid, expected them to marry.   
  


Then Britt unexpectedly left for Europe, perhaps because they had become too close. Then Henry Reid was framed and Britt arrived barely in time to watch his father die in prison. Britt became the Green Hornet, but even after she discovered his secret, a wall seemed to exist between them. Instead of the passion of lover, all that was left was an easy friendship like that between an older brother and a younger sister. It was like he had tried to put some distance between them so that he wouldn't lose someone dear to him ever again.   
  


Only after he had nearly died did their relationship began to heat up again, and that was only after she had crawled naked into his hospital bed in a very successful attempt to shake him out of a deep depression.   
  


Britt stirred and drew her close to him. "What're you thinking of," he asked huskily.   
  


"Do you remember Anita? Whatever happened to her?" she asked, trying to ignore what his hand was doing.   
  


"I don't know. She's probably fat, with forty kids and forty grandkids. Why?"   
  


"I was thinking about our first date," she said, caressing his arm. "I was wondering if you had originally planned to take her to Dante's"   
  


"Yeah. I thought it would be a good way to make her mad enough to dump me."   
  


"Then why me?" she asked.   
  


"I wanted to see what you were made of."   
  


"Oh! And did I pass?"   
  


"With flying colors." He pulled her closer. "How about I give you something else to think about?"   
  


"Oh, Brit," she said kissing him deeply, her body responding to his touch.   
  



	6. The Return of the Green Hornet

Chapter Six   
  
  
  


The Return of the Green Hornet   
  
  
  


I   
  
  
  


A loud insistent ringing disturbed the morning quiet. Without rolling over, Britt snatched up the alarm clock and threw against the wall before drawing the covers back over his head. The ringing did not stop.   
  


Casey, sleepily raising her head, gazed at the shattered remains of the clock on her side of the bed. "I think you threw the wrong one, dear."   
  


"Damn," he said as he rolled onto his back and grabbed the telephone. "Yeah, who is it?" he demanded grumpily. He listened for a few moments. "It's Frank," he told Casey as she tried to find a comfortable spot to rest her head on his chest.   
  


"Scanlon? Tell him to go away," she answered, playfully twirling some of his chest hair around her finger.   
  


"Go away, Frank," he growled into the phone, before reaching to put it down, thinking that a shower for two would be a great way to start the morning.   
  


"Britt!" Scanlon shouted, "It's about your reporter, Ed Lowrey!"   
  


Britt cursed and brought the phone back to his ear. "Okay, Frank, what is it?"   
  


"A friend of mine at police headquarters just called. They've gotten a search warrant to search both of your houses and the Daily Sentinel for Lowrey. If you have anything you don't want them to find, I suggest you get on the ball right now."   
  


"Thanks for the warning."   
  


"Britt, I've been hearing some rumors about the Green Hornet. Are they true?"   
  


"Depends on the rumors," Britt said evasively.   
  


"Is it starting up again?" Scanlon demanded.   
  


"Probably."   
  


"Britt..."   
  


"I'm afraid so," Britt sighed tiredly. "It's something I have to do for an old friend.   
  
  
  


"Isn't there some other way?"   
  


"No. There isn't," Britt answered, remembering how often he and Scanlon had been through this same argument before. Only grudgingly, and with more than a little guilt had Scanlon ever gone along with Britt's nighttime excursions as the Green Hornet.   
  


"And afterwards?"   
  


"Then everything will be back to normal."   
  


"As if anything is ever normal with you," Scanlon muttered. "You know I can't help you very much these days. Ever since I retired from public office, I've been on the outs with City Hall. Just like you."   
  


"I know that, Frank."   
  


"Be careful, Britt. I don't know what you're into, maybe I don't want to know, but for God's sake, watch your step. You have a lot to lose these days. You've got a family now..."   
  


"You don't need to remind me," Britt answered testily. "Thanks for the warning. I'll take care of everything before the police arrive."   
  


"Casey..."Britt began reluctantly after he had replaced the telephone.   
  


"I know, I overheard," she said unhappily as she got out of bed, drawing a thick terrycloth robe over her slender figure. "There may not be too much time. And don't forget you have that Rivers show today too."   
  


"I wish I could forget it. I'm going to have to rely on you to cover for me. I might have to leave before the cops get here."   
  


"What do you want me to do?" she asked, throwing Britt's robe to him.   
  


"I want you to wake Lee up. Tell him what's happening and help him get the Black Beauty out of the garage. I don't like moving it out of the house in broad daylight, but we don't have much choice. He can't take it to the townhouse, the cops are going to be searching that too. He'll have to find a place to hide it somewhere away from this house. You can call him when it's safe to come back."   
  


"What about Ed?"   
  


"I'll take care of him. I'll keep him too busy to notice what you and Lee are doing. We can't afford to have him spot the car."   
  


  
  


Lowrey, temporarily confused as to where he might be, stumbled out of his bed and wobbled to the door, trying to figure out who could be banging on his door so early in the morning. He was surprised to find his employer standing outside his door, unshaven, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and holding in his hands a large black garbage bag and an old straw hat. "The missus kick you out?"   
  


"No, Lowrey, she didn't," Britt answered, shouldering his way into Lowrey's room. "Dig through this bag and see if there's anything that'll fit you."   
  


"Huh?"   
  


"The cops are coming over here with a search warrant to look for you. I don't have any time to hide you, so I had to think of something else to do with you. Do you know how to drive a tractor mower?"   
  


"No." Lowrey said absently, trying to figure out what Reid had in mind. The reporter drew out a pair of worn out blue jeans out of the bag. From their length he guessed they were Reid's, but the waist was smaller that he had expected. "Where'd you get this stuff?"   
  


"It's Casey's ragbag,"Britt answered as he pulled out a shirt and examined the large hole cut out of it. "It should be easy enough to teach you how to use the mower." He pulled out another shirt. "We're about the same height. You might even be a little taller, but that shouldn't be any trouble. Most of my shirts are going to be too large for you though. Maybe there's something of Casey's in here that might fit you," he said digging deeper into the bag.   
  


Lowrey groaned, hoping the boss wouldn't find anything in there with flowers and lace on it. "Are you planning on hiding me in a circus, Boss?"   
  


"Nope. You're going to start earning your keep."   
  


"Mind telling me what you have up your sleeve?"   
  


"It's very simple," Britt said as he pulled out another shirt and critically sized up the reporter's thin frame. "This one should fit you," he said tossing it to Lowrey. "With these old clothes, that hat and maybe a pair of sunglasses, you're going to become our new gardener."   
  
  
  


After quickly dressing Lowrey presented himself to Britt. "What do you think?"   
  


"Not too bad at all," Britt remarked as he checked the reporter's appearance. "Those jeans are a little roomy but I think I can dig up some suspenders to keep those up. It's not perfect, but I think if you can keep them from looking very closely at you, they won't realize that you're the man they're looking for."   
  


Lowrey grinned. "I think I can see where you're coming from. I can forget about brushing my teeth, and putting on my deodorant, and maybe even eat a few onions, and I'll smell so bad they won't want to come close to me."   
  


"Right, and make sure you don't turn off the mower, maybe even act a little deaf so they'll give up asking you questions. But go easy with it," Britt warned. "Don't overplay it, or they'll take you in just because you ticked them off."   
  


"Sure, Boss," Lowrey agreed. "What about that mower?"   
  


"I'll show you it right now."   
  


"Shouldn't you put something on besides that robe?"   
  


"I don't want to delay any longer than I have to. After you're set up, I'll get dressed."   
  


Casey joined them as they walked out the back door. "Lee's taking care of that errand like you asked," she said, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist.   
  


"Good," Britt responded. "Everything is moving along well now. Why don't you fix a little breakfast for us all." Britt smiled. "And make sure you give Lowrey a few of eggs in his onions. Sounds good to you, Lowrey?"   
  


"Sounds great, Mr. Reid," Lowrey said, watching enviously as Casey gave Britt a long kiss, seemingly oblivious to his presence, before she returned to the house. As he watched the slow sway of her hips, he commented admiringly, "You're a mighty lucky man. She's the kind of woman a lot of men would kill for."   
  


"I know I'm lucky. That's why I'm doing all this. And yes, I would."   
  


"Would what?"   
  


"Kill for her," Britt replied before turning around and walking quickly to a large storage shed behind the house.   
  


Lowrey scratched his head for a moment, trying to decide whether Reid was serious or not. He decided he wasn't the one to find out. Britt Reid, for all his years was one tough customer. He wasn't about to test the man's sincerity, especially when it came to his wife.   
  
  
  


Britt heard Casey answer the phone as he returned to the house. "That was somebody from the Rivers show," she told him. "They've pushed up the taping back a few hours. Something's wrong with their equipment."   
  


Britt frowned suspiciously. "Casey, call them back and confirm that they have the time right. I'll start dressing right now anyway."   
  


Hearing the crunch of tires out front Casey peeked through the kitchen curtains. "Just like I figured," she sighed. "It's the police."   
  


Disgustedly, Britt shook his head. "Casey..." he began.   
  


"I know, I'll take care of everything while you get dressed. You just concentrate on Rivers and his pack. I'll take care of the police."   
  


"I'd rather you take care of Rivers, and I take care of the cops. You'd probably do a better job than I would," he said glumly.   
  
  
  


Britt tried to get ready as quickly as possible, but he had to make sure his appearance was faultless. He remembered that in the Nixon/Kennedy debate all it took was a poor makeup job and a less than close shave to make Nixon look like a crook. Britt ran a hand against his own cheek, checking the closeness of his shave. He ran the shaver over one more time just to make sure and as a final touch used enough hair spray so that his haircut would stay neatly in place. At least he was experienced enough in television to know how to get ready and not have to rely on someone else's work to make him presentable for the air.   
  


Not knowing what Rivers had in store for him, he had to be ready for anything. Still, he could feel the screws slowly tightening around him. It was like he was fighting underwater with both of his hands tied behind his back. Perhaps tonight as the Green Hornet he would be able to turn the tide in his favor. That is if he made it through the grilling on Rivers' show.   
  


Casey smiled welcomingly as Britt entered the livingroom. "Oh, Britt, this is Detective Morrisey," she said introducing a tall cadaverous man with small cynical eyes that had seen too much over a too long career. By the sourness of his expression, Britt guessed that the detective was determined not to be impressed with either the Reid's position or power. "And this is Detective Weston," she said, introducing a young, fresh-faced kid. Weston jumped suddenly to his feet at the sound of his name, spilling the cup of coffee he was holding in his hand. A real eager beaver, he had a hard time listening to their conversation, distracted as he was by the fact that Casey, who had not had the time to dress, wore nothing under a robe that had strategically slipped to show more than enough cleavage.   
  


"Are you gentlemen finding everything to your satisfaction?" Britt asked, overly politely.   
  


Morrisey spoke up, "Your wife has been very helpful, Mr. Reid, but now that you're here, I'm sure she will be glad to have a chance to get dressed." Casey's charms had not had any impact on him.   
  


She slowly walked to Britt's side, swaying suggestively as she brushed against the younger detective. Weston promptly flushed nervously under Reid's direct gaze. _That was one detective_, Britt thought, _who wasn't going to remember anything from this visit._ The other one was a hard case, and a dangerous one, depending on how willing he was to see what he was told to see. He was going to be difficult to distract. Deciding to take the bull by the horns, and get it over with, Britt asked, "Have you gentlemen had a chance to search the grounds yet?"   
  


"No. We haven't," Weston replied.   
  


"I don't have much time, but I'll show you around while my wife gets dressed," Britt offered.   
  


Outside Morrisey immediately spotted Lowrey running the mower at the north end of the lawn. "Who's he?"   
  


"He's our gardener."   
  


"I see," said the detective, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I want to talk to him. If you don't mind," he added.   
  


Britt shot a quick glance at his watch. "Of course I don't mind. You can talk to anyone you want to," he answered. "But I do have an extremely important appointment to keep, so we'll have to keep this as short as possible." He led the detectives at a rapid pace across the lawn's broad expanse until the sour-faced Morrisey was left far behind.   
  


"Shit!" Morrisey yelped as his left foot fell into a muddy hole up to his knee.   
  


"Sorry about that, Detective. We've been having a little trouble with gophers," Britt said unapologetically as he waited for Morrisey to catch up.   
  


Morrisey glared viciously at Britt and growled, "No problem, Mr. Reid. No problem at all."   
  


"Jack!" Britt yelled, waving the spurious gardener down. "These two police officers here would like to ask you a few questions."   
  


"Sure, Mr. Reid," Lowrey shouted back as he turned the mower toward them.   
  


As he drove up beside them, he asked above the clattering racket of the mower, "What do you guys want?" Purposely, he landed a wad of chewing tobacco at the detectives feet, barely missing Morrisey's clean right shoe.   
  


"We have some questions to ask you," Morrisey began as he pulled out some photographs. "Have you seen this man before?" he asked giving them to Lowrey. As Lowrey reached out a grimy, oil-covered hand, the detective grimaced at his foul body odor. "You mind shutting off the mower, please?" Morrisey demanded sharply.   
  


"Huh?" Lowrey asked.   
  


"I said, shut the mower off!" Morrisey shouted more loudly.   
  


Cupping a hand to his ear, and leaning closer to the detective, Lowrey shouted back, "I can't hear you. Can you talk a little louder? I can't hear you over the mower."   
  


His face turning red and gagging from Lowrey's bad breath, Morrisey screamed, "Shut that goddam thing off!"   
  


"Can't, the thing's a bitch to get started," Lowrey replied as he tried to wipe the oil from his hands, but still managing to get the photos covered with black fingerprints. "Whoops!" he said as a stray breeze snatched the photos from his hand and sent them under the mower's moving blade. "Damn, there goes your pictures. Sorry." He grinned stupidly at Morrisey's growing annoyance.   
  


"I oughta . . . " Morrisey muttered.   
  


"Huh?" Lowrey shouted, "Can't hear you."   
  


"Forget it," Morrisey growled, raising his voice even higher. "Did you ever see the guy in the pictures before?" he demanded, vainly trying not to lose his temper in front of the publisher standing behind him.   
  


"I didn't see those pictures too good before they got chewed up, officer," Lowrey said, scratching himself. "If I see him though, I'll let him know yer lookin' for him."   
  


"That won't be necessary. We'll do fine without your 'help'," Morrisey growled.   
  


"Anything else I can do for you fellas? Otherwise, I got to get back to my work."   
  


"No, there is nothing else. Go back to what you were doing," Morrisey said, dismissing the gardener.   
  


"Okay," Lowrey said, pulling the mower around the three men.   
  


Britt again checked his watch, "Gentlemen, I must be going, but I'm sure my wife will have finished dressing by now. She'll be happy to show you the rest of the house," he said, escorting them back to the house.   
  


Casey greeted them at the house with a broad smile. She was wearing unusually tight pants which with the blouse tied across her breasts showed every curve of her figure. "Did you find everything okay?" she asked, addressing the younger detective.   
  


Morrisey grumbled, "Your gardener is a complete idiot. I don't see why you hired him."   
  


"I'm very sorry. Jack had come highly recommended, but I guess after today, we may have to find someone else. It's very hard to find good help these days," Casey replied apologetically.   
  


"That's a problem working stiffs like us don't have," Morrisey answered unsympathetically.   
  


"Then, I envy you, Detective." Britt glanced at his watch meaningfully. "Now, I must leave you in my wife's capable hands. I have an appointment I must get to."   
  


"Of course, Mr. Reid," said Morrisey.   
  


Leaving the detectives at the front door, Casey followed Britt out to his car. He grasped her around the waist and beyond their hearing whispered into her ear. "Aren't we overdoing it a bit?" he asked.   
  


She mischievously tossed her red-gold hair that fell unrestrained over her shoulders. "The whole idea is to distract them, isn't it?"   
  


"It is, but you're going to distract that young detective back into puberty."   
  


She laughed. "To look at him, you wouldn't even think he's out of puberty yet. I don't see how he could even be old enough to be a detective. That Morrisey though, he's the one that might be trouble for us."   
  


"He could be," Britt admitted. "But he's going to have so much to do trying to keep Weston in line that he's going to have very little time to notice anything else," he commented wryly. He kissed her gently. "I'll try to get free as soon as I can." He patted her rounded buttock playfully. "Try to behave yourself and stay out of trouble."   
  


  
  
  
  


II   
  
  
  


An hour later Britt found himself alone on the first floor of the Emerson Communications building except for a janitor mopping the floor. Perhaps he was too early after all. "Where's everybody?" he asked the janitor.   
  


"Everybody's at Studio Six. Didn't anyone tell you?"   
  


"No," Britt said grimly. "Where is it?"   
  


"Take the elevator to the next floor, turn left, then right and there you are," the janitor said helpfully.   
  


"Thanks," Britt said, turning on his heel. He'd have to move quickly, or the way his luck was running he'd be late. He took the stairs up to the next floor in two's and three's, not trusting that the elevator would deliver him in time. Slightly out of breath, he shoved his way through the double doors leading into a large television studio. The audience had already been seated, but as yet the show was not on the air. He was on time, just barely. There would be little time for him to gather his thoughts.   
  


"Mr. Reid," said a trim, grey-haired woman carrying a large pile of papers in her arms. "I am so glad that you finally made it. I was afraid that you weren't going to get here on time."   
  


"What happened to the equipment problems?" he demanded sharply. "I was told the show was going to be delayed."   
  


"They were just fixed a short time ago," she answered.   
  


"Then why wasn't I called about it, and the change in studios?"   
  


"I'm so sorry about that, Mr. Reid, but after the equipment was fixed, Mr. Rivers decided that because the audience was so big to move the show to a larger studio. By the time the decision had been made, we couldn't reach you."   
  


"I have a cell phone. I could have been reached at any time," he pointed out.   
  


"We weren't aware of that. Please forgive the oversight. I promise you, it won't happen again," she said.   
  


"I'm sure it won't. How soon are you going on the air?"   
  


She checked her watch. "In about fifteen minutes," she replied. "Why don't I take you back to the Green Room? You can get a cup of coffee and have a chance to catch your breath before air time."   
  


"No. I'll stay here. Just in case someone 'forgets' to tell me the show has started."   
  


"That wouldn't happen, I assure you," she said, trying to follow Britt as he began wandering around the cameras. "You really shouldn't be among the cameras. They are very delicate and could be easily damaged."   
  


"I'm fully aware of that. I've purchased quite a few of them for my own television station."   
  


"I'm sorry. I should have remembered that you own DSTV. So of course, you would know all about this kind of equipment."   
  


"Miss, why don't you go back to what you were doing, instead of trailing me around? I know my way around a studio. I promise not to touch anything."   
  


"But . . . "   
  


"Please," he insisted politely.   
  


"Okay, if you insist, but please don't get into any trouble. That would mean my job," she pleaded.   
  


"I understand. Look," he said pointing to a harassed-looking middle-aged man. "See that cameraman. He's an old friend of mine. I'll stay in one place and talk with him until the show starts."   
  


She doubtfully thought about his suggestion. "Okay, but please stay in one place. Please," she begged.   
  


Britt smiled warmly. "Don't worry, I promise to behave myself," he assured her as he urged her on her way.   
  


After she left, he headed toward the cameraman. "George! How's it going?"   
  


"Fine, Mr. Reid, though it isn't like working for the Sentinel."   
  


"Pay should be better though, since you're now the head cameraman."   
  


"Yeah, that's the only reason I left your place, because he promised me the sun and the moon to get him to work for him. To tell you the truth I'm starting to have a few second thoughts about the whole thing."   
  


"Why's that?"   
  


"Rivers' a tyrant. He runs the whole show like he was some kind of god."   
  


"Seems to me some people have accused me of the same thing."   
  


"Well, sometimes you were a real SOB, but you were usually right, and when you weren't, you were willing to admit it. Besides you always were square with everybody. This Rivers guy, he'll screw anybody to get ahead."   
  


"So I noticed. They first call to tell me that the show's been delayed because of technical problems and then they 'forget' to call back to say that everything's been fixed and that they've moved to a different studio."   
  


"Sounds like they were trying to make sure you wouldn't show up in time."   
  


"That's what it looks like to me."   
  


"That's not going to be your only problem," George said looking furtively around, hoping they weren't being watched too closely.   
  


"Oh? What else is there?" Britt asked, dreading what other unpleasant surprises were in store for him.   
  


"Well, we've been ordered to make sure you don't come off very good on the screen."   
  


"Like if I pick my nose, you'll be sure to catch it in living color. In close up."   
  


"Exactly, and they cooked up some kind of surprise for you."   
  


"What kind of surprise?"   
  


"I don't know," George said uncomfortably. "But I don't think it's good. They got something behind the set and nobody's been allowed to look at it."   
  


"Could you manage to let me see it?"   
  


"Wish I could, Mr. Reid. I really do, but I can't. The show's going to be starting real soon. I don't have any time to sneak you back there."   
  


Britt nodded his understanding. He could only push so far. "If you ever tire of working for Rivers, let me know. I think I can arrange something for you at the Sentinel."   
  


"I sure will think about that, sir."   
  


Britt watched the restive audience for a few moments, noticing for the first time that Senator De la Culebra was moving among them. "He's performing like a real pro," he commented.   
  


"Yeah, he's got them eating out of his hand. They're going to be a tough crowd for you," George said.   
  


"I've handled worse before," Britt said confidently.   
  


"Like that crew that demonstrated in front of the Sentinel?"   
  


"Things did get a little out of hand there," Britt admitted. "Do you think things might get out of hand here?"   
  


"If you're not careful, yeah." Noticing a man of medium height with a tennis-bum tan and shoe polish black hair coming toward them, George turned quickly away. "Here comes Rivers. I can't talk to you anymore."   
  


"I understand," Britt said in a low voice. He strode in Rivers direction, intersecting his path toward the presidential candidate. "Mr. Rivers, I believe?" he began.   
  


"Mr. Reid? I'm glad you could make it to our humble show," Rivers said distractedly, surprised to find the publisher on the set.   
  


"I've heard that your show is anything but humble. You have quite a following," Britt observed, nodding toward the filled seats in the studio.   
  


"Maybe the next time our show is offered for syndication you'll be more willing to pick us up."   
  


"No. I don't think so. Your show is not quite compatible with the rest of DSTV's programming."   
  


"My show is too sensationalistic for you, isn't it?"   
  


"We do have certain standards . . . "   
  


"You mean you have certain standards. Your's are the only ones that matter at DSTV."   
  


"I don't usually like to put it that way, but yes, since I do own it, I believe it is my right," Britt said tightly.   
  


Rivers was pleased to see that he had managed to irritate the newspaper publisher. "Let's not get off on the wrong foot, Mr. Reid," he said solicitously. "I see that we are about to begin. If you'll please follow me, I'll show you to your seat," Rivers said smoothly as he grasped Britt's elbow. "Watch your step. It wouldn't do for you to miss the show because you tripped over some cables and hurt yourself."   
  


Britt roughly withdrew his arm from Rivers' grasp. "I can fully manage by myself," he growled, knowing in his gut that this whole thing was going to be a complete disaster.   
  
  
  


  
  


Lowrey breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out of the shower and began drying himself off. It felt good to be clean again. He had been worried that the cops were going to take all day, but they had driven off shortly after Reid had left the house. After leaving a note for Lowrey, Casey had followed them to the townhouse in the city. As he dressed in the clothes Casey had brought from his apartment earlier in the week, Lowrey heard the clattering hum of the garage door opener. It was too soon for Casey to be returning, Lowrey thought, but maybe she had forgotten something.   
  


After finishing dressing, he padded downstairs to the kitchen. The quick breakfast he had eaten earlier had not been enough to fill him up and now his stomach was growling mightily. He rummaged through the Reids' refrigerator and pantry until he had a sandwich that Dagwood would have been proud of. As he popped the top of his second beer, Lowrey realized that whoever had driven into the garage still had not come into the house. _Maybe_, he thought, _it wasn't Mrs. Reid after all. Could be the boy, Lee, though, back from some errand. The kid had been spending a lot of time in the garage behind a locked door._ That locked door was an open challenge to his professional curiosity. Especially since it was obviously being done with Reid's blessing since he was always fended off Lowrey's not too subtle probes into what was going on behind that door.   
  


Sipping on his beer, Lowrey peered into the lock. It wasn't anything special, nothing different from what was found in everyone else's house. All it needed was a little convincing from the narrow eyeglass screwdriver he had found in a kitchen drawer. He would have tried a lot sooner, but this was the first time he had been left alone in the house. He probed and prodded until he heard a satisfying click. The loud blaring of a television set assaulted Lowrey as he entered the garage. He could have stormed the door with a battering ram and the owner of the pair of legs sticking out from under the car would have never noticed.   
  


And what a car. Lowrey whistled softly as he looked down at the big black car that dominated the garage. He had seen a lot of black cars before and a lot of big ones as well. He had even seen more than a few big, black cars, but this one was bigger and blacker than anything else he had ever seen. It was black with a capital 'B'. It was not a high-gloss, patent leather black, but neither was it a dull black. Instead it had a soft, light swallowing quality like a moonless night sky. The thin strips of chrome along the upper edges of its sides and the dart of chrome on the nose of its hood did little to relieve the blackness, serving only to made it seem blacker still by the comparison. True, it was no bigger than some of the limousines that he had seen many high and mighty politicians ride around in, but there was a sinister muscular quality to its size. This machine was not built for showy display. It radiated a frighteningly barely restrained power.   
  


He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something hauntingly familiar about the car. He walked around it until he came to the legs poking out from under the car. The parking lights were folded down to reveal a set of pods with eight holes in each of them. "What're you doing?" he asked, crouching down to look under at Lee who was setting something that looked suspiciously like missiles or rockets into a panel behind the pods.   
  


"Mr. Lowrey, what're you doing here?" Lee exclaimed in shock as he slid out from under the car, bumping his head on the lower edge of the grille. "That door was locked!"he said, rubbing the sore spot on his head.   
  


"I know," Lowrey said, twirling the thin screwdriver in his fingers. "I just can't stand to see doors locked. I always have to find out what's behind them. That's a nice rig," he said nodding toward the car. "Is it Mr. Reid's?"   
  


"Uh, no, it isn't," Lee stammered.   
  


"Oh? Whose is it? It looks expensive, so it can't be yours."   
  


"Well, in a way it is. I, uh, inherited it from my father. It was a, uh, custom job for a costume party."   
  


"Damn fancy for a costume party. Those missiles look mighty realistic."   
  


Lee slid the rockets back under the car with a foot, trying to get them out of the reporter's sight. "They're just, uh, toy rockets. You know, the kind people use for fireworks. They smoke and spark a lot, but they're harmless."   
  


Lowrey ran a finger along the vinyl-covered roof, still trying to remember where he had seen the car before. Some old pictures, perhaps? "This baby's got to be over twenty years old. That costume party must've been a long time ago."   
  


"It was," Lee said as he went over to put the sound down on the television set. "The Philo Rivers show is going to be on soon. I want to see how Mr. Reid does."   
  


"Yeah, me too. So you think that business about having a show on media responsibility is just a cover so that they can put Mr. Reid on the spot, by claiming that he was the Green Hornet?"   
  


"Uh huh," Lee agreed, wishing that Lowrey had not mentioned the Green Hornet.   
  


"The Green Hornet . . . " Lowrey said softly as he turned around to face the car behind him, only now fully noticing its unusual lines and the big shield-shaped grille. "The Green Hornet! That car is the Black Beauty, the Green Hornet's car!" he exclaimed. "That means Mr. Reid really was the Green Hornet! Doesn't it, Kid? My God, what a story!" Lowrey said as he began pacing the garage. "Britt Reid, the fighting publisher of the Daily Sentinel was the Green Hornet, the most dangerous criminal this city has ever seen."   
  


"You're not planning on exposing Mr. Reid, are you?" Lee asked, shocked.   
  


Taken aback by Lee's question, Lowrey thought for a moment. "I don't know. I guess I shouldn't. At least not until I have a chance to talk to him about it. Mr. Reid can be a hard man to work for, but I've always known him as an honest guy. Whatever his reasons, they must have been good ones." His eyes widened, struck by a sudden realization. Lowrey stared at the Black Beauty. "Wait a minute. What am I doing saying 'was'? You're loading that car up. You're getting it ready. That means you and Mr. Reid are planning on using it. Mr. Reid is reviving the Green Hornet. Isn't he?" Lowrey demanded excitedly.   
  


"Yeah, he is," Lee admitted miserably.   
  


"I think I know why. Your father's name was Kato. He was the Green Hornet's chauffeur. Right?"   
  


Lee silently nodded agreement.   
  


Lowrey continued, "You came here to get Mr. Reid to avenge your father's murder, but not as Britt Reid, but as the Green Hornet. That's it, isn't it?"   
  


"Yeah, basically."   
  


"Boy, Kid, you sure stirred up a hornet's nest, pun intended. Rivers, Crawford and De la Culebra are right on the money. They're planning on springing something about the Green Hornet on Mr. Reid today and he doesn't have any way to defend himself. That story about not remembering who shot him isn't going to wash, especially since the Green Hornet was supposedly killed that same night. They have something up their sleeves and they're going to destroy him in from of millions of people." Lowrey regarded the Black Beauty, thinking, "Can that thing run?"   
  


"Yeah," Lee answered slowly, not quite sure what the reporter had in mind. "I was just checking out the rockets' firing mechanism. They're very sensitive and tend to jam or short circuit at the wrong time."   
  


"But is it drivable?"   
  


"Sure it is. Why?"   
  


"I have a brilliant idea on how to get the boss off the hook," Lowrey said, laying a brotherly arm on Lee's shoulders. 

  
  
  
  


"Philo," said Crawford, the editor of the Clarion, "Everyone complains how bad tabloid papers are, but they have never explained why they're so popular. Our circulation, if it was for a daily like Mr. Reid's Daily Sentinel would make the Clarion the top paper in the country. Everybody is reading us. We are serving a need that dailies, which happen to be going under in almost every city across the country, are failing to meet. No one ever mentions that. As for the complaints from public figures such as politicians and actors. Why is it that they go out of the way to get publicity, and yet are the first to complain when that publicity is negative? Then they start demanding that controls be put on the press, something that endangers our First Amendment rights. The very thing that keeps our country free."   
  


"I agree," Senator De la Culebra responded. "A free press is the greatest achievement of a free country, but the press must realize that it is responsible to the American people. Otherwise, it becomes a danger to everyone's freedom. Every day we see local newspapers and other types of media being bought out by massive national, even international, corporations. If this trend continues, the American people will be only fed a diet of news that is filtered by the agendas of these corporations. That is something that threatens everyone, not just public figures." De la Culebra nodded toward Britt Reid. "Mr. Reid's Daily Sentinel is part of that dying breed, being as it is owned by only one man. But even in this case, because of the Sentinel's power in this community and its connection with DSTV, people in this city essentially see the world through Mr. Reid's eyes." The senator smiled smoothly. "Fortunately, Mr. Reid is known for his high standards and his demands for factual, unbiased reporting. He is to be commended for that."   
  


"Thank you," Britt murmured during the audience's polite applause. He wondered where the thorns were in the senator's rosy compliment. The show was going far too smoothly for his taste.   
  


"No," De la Culebra continued, "What has been disturbing me lately is the media's increased fondness for digging up the slightest big of dirt, no matter how old it is, and blowing it all out of proportion, without regard for what the person has done with their life since. Never has anyone ever brought up the past of those same newsmen. Like yourself, Mr. Reid."   
  


_Uh oh,_ Britt thought, straightening up in his seat, _here it comes_.   
  


"You, yourself had a very wild youth, Mr. Reid."   
  


"True, I was somewhat wild when I was young. I went through a period of rebellion when I felt my father took it for granted that I was going into the newspaper field just like he and his father before him did. I ran with fairly fast group of jet setters, but unlike you, Senator, I was never arrested for armed robbery and gang related violence."   
  


De la Culebra's eyes narrowed. "I was not convicted for those crimes, Mr. Reid. I have never tried to hide my youthful mistakes. Everyone knows about them. However there are parts of your past that you have hidden from the people of this city."   
  


"I never lied about the excess of my youth . . . "Britt began.   
  


The senator smiled coldly, his small black eyes glittering like a snake's. "Perhaps I did not express myself clearly. I am not talking about your youthful indiscretions, but rather later, after you had inherited the newspaper. A time when you played the public and the law for fools, when you betrayed the trust that was placed in you." He nodded to someone offstage. "Maybe this will refresh your memory," he said as a set of curtains were swept aside to show a mannequin dressed in a badly stained dark green topcoat, snap brim fedora and a green mask. The mannequin's flesh colored plastic could be seen through the many bullet holes in the coat. "Does this happen to job your memory?"   
  


Trying to hide his shock, Britt nodded. "I take it these clothes are supposed to have belonged to the Green Hornet? Or at least that's what you want everyone to believe. How did you get them?"   
  


"It was simple. They were found at the gravel pit where the Green Hornet was taken to be killed. Apparently the Green Hornet's man, Kato, had taken the coat off so that he could do some first aid. The coat, mask and hat were collected by the police as evidence and remained at police headquarters until I asked to borrow them for this show. A thought just occurred to me. Didn't you once have a valet named Kato? Didn't he disappear after bringing you in, seriously injured, to a local hospital on the same night that the Green Hornet was supposed to have been killed?"   
  


"Exactly when the Hornet was killed was never established," Britt answered.   
  


"You have never given a believable explanation as to how you were wounded," the senator pressed. "Saying that you had amnesia is just too far fetched to believe. I would've thought that you could have been more creative, especially considering the work you're in."   
  


"You've been in politics too long, Senator. You've lost all ability to tell fact from fiction. You should know that the more 'creative' a story is, the more likely that it is a lie. The simple truth is that I don't remember what happened. That's common in cases of severe trauma like mine was. As you said, if I was lying, I surely would have come up with a better story."   
  


The senator gazed at the coat. "I wonder if those holes would line up with the scars from when you were wounded."   
  


"You want me to strip right here?"   
  


"No. I don't think that's necessary. I'm sure a simple check of your medical records could give the same information. But I am forgetting myself. Those records are private. I wouldn't dream of invading your privacy. However I'm sure you've heard of DNA testing. A bit of dried blood from that coat, a tiny bit finger prick of blood from you and the whole mystery would be solved. One way or the other."   
  


"Done, of course, by a laboratory of your choice," Britt bit out through clenched teeth. "I'd be a fool to consent to something like that. It would be quite a feather in your campaign hat to unmask the Green Hornet. Even if you have to destroy an innocent man to do it. No thanks, I've been through that twice, I don't care to go through that a third time."   
  


"You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Reid," De la Culebra said soothingly, "[][1][][2][][3]You are free to examine the credentials of our experts, or even find those of your own choosing to do in-tandem testing. And of course, you'll observe the collection of both specimens to make sure that no errors have been made. After all, we are only interested in the truth. As I know, you are. Think of it this way, if the specimens don't match, you will be completely in the clear, free of all suspicion."   
  


Britt was cornered. If he didn't go through the testing, it would be as good admitting on national television that he was the Green Hornet. But he could not, dared not, be tested.   
  


A loud clatter from the rear of the darkened studio interrupted Britt's grim thoughts. A gruff voice said, "You something that belongs to me."   
  


At Rivers' command the house light went up to show two men walking toward the front of the audience. Britt almost slid out of his seat when he saw that the taller of the two men was wearing a topcoat identical to the one on the mannequin. The other man wore a black chauffeur's uniform and black mask.   
  


"The Green Hornet!" Rivers sputtered helplessly, his eyes darting between Reid and the newcomer.   
  


One of De la Culebra's guards hurled himself at the intruders. With a catlike yowl, the chauffeur sent the burly man flying against a video monitor which exploded into a shower of sparks. The man in green raised a slender green pistol toward the rest of the senator's guards. "Do exactly as I say and no one else will get hurt. You, Reid, take that stuff off that dummy and throw it to my man."   
  


"No!" shouted Crawford, moving between Britt and the mannequin. "You can't do this. You can't give those things to him. That man is an imposter."   
  


"Whether he's real or not, I suggest we do exactly what he says," Britt said calmly to the distraught tabloid editor.   
  


"You're behind this, Reid," Crawford hissed too softly for the fearful audience to hear. "I know you're the Green Hornet. I know you are. That coat is the only way we can prove it. I won't let you give it to him."   
  


"Crawford, get out of the way!" ordered the man in the green mask as he stepped onto the stage.   
  


"No! You're a fake hired by Reid to discredit us!" Crawford screamed, lunging for the masked man, his hands clutching for the mask. "I'll prove it to the entire world!"   
  


Neatly sidestepping the charging Crawford, the masked man slapped him down with the butt of the green pistol. Crawford gathered himself and threw himself again at the masked intruders, but before he could reach them he fell to the ground gasping as a green mist fired from the pistol enveloped him.   
  


Pandemonium broke out among the audience as screaming people rushed for the exits behind them. Britt roughly grabbed the microphone from Rivers' frozen hands, "Everyone, please return to your seats. Mr. Crawford has not been injured. That green mist is merely a sleeping gas. You are in no danger. The only danger is in everyone panicking. Please return to your seats," he ordered in a calm voice. A murmur of indecision echoed through the crowd. "Please return to your seats," Britt repeated firmly, "Allow these men to get what they want and no one will be hurt." He pulled the coat, hat and mask from the mannequin. "Here is what you came for. Take it," he said, peering into the face of the chauffeur as he handed over the clothing. The chauffeur, without changing his grim expression, winked.   
  


"Thank you, Mr. Reid. You have been most cooperative," said the green masked man, avoiding Britt's narrow eyed examination of his face. "Don't anyone follow us," he threatened as he and the chauffeur left the studio.   
  


"That was very brave of you, Mr. Reid," complimented De la Culebra who had cooly watched the entire episode without leaving his seat. "Crawford was sure that you were the Green Hornet. It appears that he, and I, were mistaken."   
  


"Thanks," Britt answered, his racing mind running over who was in the green mask.   
  
  
  


After the police had finished their investigation of the morning's events, Britt drove home like a madman. "Lee!" he shouted, slamming the front door behind him. "Where the hell are you?"   
  


"I'm right here, Mr. Reid," Lee answered, coming down the stairs with Lowrey following close behind him.   
  


"What the hell was the idea of showing up at Rivers' show today?"   
  


"Uh, Mr. Reid, that was my idea," Lowrey interrupted.   
  


"I'll deal with you later, Lowrey," Britt said icily. He turned on Lee. "How the hell did Lowrey find out about the Green Hornet?" he demanded.   
  


"I was working on the Black Beauty when he came into the garage."   
  


"Didn't I tell you before not to work on that damn car when Lowrey's in the house?"   
  


"Yeah, but when I took her out this morning she was making some funny noises. I wanted to make sure that I had installed the rockets okay. I didn't want them to foul up if we needed them tonight." 

"Are you going out tonight? As the Green Hornet?" Lowrey asked, butting in.   
  


"That is none of your damn business," Britt snapped at the reporter. "Lee, this has got to be the most hair-brained thing you have ever done!" he said advancing on the much smaller young man.   
  


Roughly grabbing Reid's arm, Lowrey pressed himself between the enraged man and the boy. "Mr. Reid, lay off the kid! I told you it was my idea. So lay off him."   
  


"Your idea! That figures. I should've known that Lee would've had more sense than to pull an idiotic stunt like that!"   
  


"That's gratitude for you. Here we risk life and limb to get you off the hook, and instead of thanking us, you're ready to tear our heads off."   
  


"Dammit, didn't it ever cross your puny mind what would've happened if you had been caught?"   
  


"You're going to be taking the same chance tonight . . . "   
  


"I prefer to put my own neck in the noose, if you don't mind, not have somebody else do it for me," Britt growled menacingly as he advanced on the reporter.   
  


Lowrey glared back at Reid, "Go ahead, hit me. You're older than me, but I'm no fighter. If it makes you feel better to beat the hell out of me, go ahead," he dared. "But you got to admit that my idea worked. We got the evidence that could convict you of being the Green Hornet and millions of people saw the Green Hornet and Britt Reid together. Nobody will ever believe that you and the Hornet are the same person. That's it, isn't it? You're mad because you didn't think of it."   
  


"Okay, Lowrey, I'll admit your scheme worked. That's all that I'm going to admit," Britt said, slowly cooling off. "But, I would've appreciated some kind of warning."   
  


"You're a hard man to reach sometimes, besides you were so obviously shocked that nobody could've claimed that you were pretending."   
  


Britt nodded reluctantly. "I can see your point. Now that you know my secret, what are you planning on doing about it?"   
  


"It is the story of the century," Lowrey said thoughtfully. "My name would be right up there with Woodward's and Bernstein's, but . . . "   
  


"But . . . " Britt prodded, wondering what sort of deal the reporter wanted to cut, and what he would do if he couldn't consent to Lowrey's demands.   
  


"The kid told me your reasons for originally becoming the Green Hornet. Knowing you like I do, I understand why you did it. Sometimes you can't take the straight and narrow. You have to try another way instead. The Green Hornet was your way. You know, I kind of admire you for being the Green Hornet. Few people would've had the guts to put his life on the line like you did. I know I don't. You're welcome to the Green Hornet, I wouldn't put that mask back on for a million bucks."   
  


"So . . . "   
  


"So what I'm saying is that your secret is safe with me. Except for one thing."   
  


_Here it comes_, Britt thought. "What?"   
  


Lowrey grinned crookedly. "Maybe the next time you see your daughter, could you put in a good word for me? I'd sure like to get a date with her."   
  


Britt shook his head, laughing with relief. "Danielle has a mind of her own, but I'll try to talk to her about you. That is if I can find anything good to say about you."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


III   
  
  
  
  
  


It was nearly midnight as Britt was gazed out his bedroom window. On the cool night air he could smell the roses growing on the gnarled rosebush climbing the wall under the window. As the last roses of summer their scent was especially sweet. In another month or so they would be covered under a blanket of snow. His mother had planted the bush the morning before he was born. She used to joke that because he had been born at midnight, the night had always held a special attraction for him. It was calling to him now. Sensuously warm, sweetly scented, and excitingly dangerous like a forbidden lover. The night called for him to run with it, like he had done when he had been so much younger. However, he felt an odd uneasiness.   
  


Everything was ready. A new coat tailored to his current measurements was hanging on the open closet door, and on the bed was a green mask, a silk scarf and a dark green snap brim hat with a broad, black hatband, but he found that he was delaying getting dressed.   
  


From the kitchen downstairs he could hear the contented growling of the dishwasher cleaning supper's dishes, and somewhere in the house he could hear Casey humming to herself as she was puttering around doing whatever a woman does to get ready for the next morning. He was tempted to reject the nighttime lover that had once betrayed him. He had lived like a normal human being for a long time, working in the day, sleeping and making love at night. It didn't make sense to throw that all away because the son of an old ally had come to him for help. No, it didn't make any sense at all, but the night was calling to him and his blood ran hot with the thought of running with it in a big black car.   
  


Sighing, he turned away from the window and picked up a dark green tie hanging from the bed's headboard. He tightened it around his throat, taking care that it wasn't too tight. He could little afford any kind of constriction. Next, he placed the silk scarf about his neck, not wrapping it, just placing it across his shoulders so that a thin strip of white would show from under the topcoat. Then he lifted the midnight green topcoat off the hanger and slipped into it. He shrugged his shoulders, and crossed his arms across his chest, checking for any tightness that might restrict movement. The coat came to mid thigh and the vent in back was cut high enough not to hinder his legs. Gazing at his reflection in a large standing mirror, he noted that the cut was perfect. It was nipped in slightly at the waist and lightly padded in the shoulders, emphasizing the width of his shoulders without making him look like a poorly dressed fullback. There was enough room inside the coat for his weapons without showing their presence.   
  


Satisfied with his appearance, Britt returned to the bed and picked up the green mask. It was the only thing original from the past. His hands began shaking uncontrollably as the memories of his final night as the Green Hornet flooded over him. It all came back to him in a waking nightmare. His race for life, the agony of bullets tearing through his flesh, the desperate fear and the hopelessness, the certainty of knowing that he was going to die a slow, painful death. He thought he had put it all behind him; that the weeks of reliving the horror, night after night was over after all these years.   
  


Britt swore fiercely, throwing the mask forcefully against the wall. He was a fool, he thought, he could never wear that cursed mask again. No matter how hard he tried, the Green Hornet was dead and would stay dead. It didn't matter how hard Lee pushed, it was impossible for him to resurrect the Green Hornet. He no longer had the edge, the fearlessness that being the Green Hornet required. Knowing that he could die, that he almost had, he no longer had a young man's faith in his own invincibility. His enemies had won, reaching across the years they still had the power to destroy him.   
  


Britt stared at himself in the mirror on Casey's bureau. He saw an old man foolishly trying to recapture the youth that had been so violently ripped away from him. He had responsibilities now. In silver framed pictures his family gazed out at him. Responsibilities. Over their smiling faces he saw red cross hairs. They were still De la Culebra's targets. He could knuckle in to De la Culebra's demands, drop the investigation, give his enemy the papers he wanted. He could bow his head in defeat, all his brave talk to Lee about courage and fear, an old man's lie.   
  


He couldn't do that, he wouldn't give De la Culebra the satisfaction. Pride, stubbornness, a sense of duty, whatever it was, he still had to do what he could to protect his family, to avenge the death of a friend who had always stood by his side. A cool, calmness came over him. Taking several deep breaths, he cleared the last vestiges of panic from his mind, a sure determination replaced it. He had come too far to back out now, and even if he could, he didn't want to.   
  


Calmly, he bent to the floor, picked up the mask and fitted it to his face, adjusting the earpieces so that they fitted snugly and pressed the molded nosepiece firmly in place. Surprisingly it still fitted comfortably. Lastly he placed the hat on his head and stepped again before the full length mirror to critically examine his appearance. Not too bad, he thought.   
  


A soft gasp spun him around to see Casey staring at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," she whispered shakily. "It's just the way you look. It's like walking back into the past. There's not difference, none at all. You look just the way you did then."   
  


Britt regarded his reflection. "Well, the outfit does manage to hide a lot of clues to my age. The hat hides the grey hair, and the coat is well-tailored, so it's hard to tell that I've gained a lot of weight since then."   
  


She smiled, lovingly wrapping her arms around his waist. "You haven't gained that much. It's all muscle anyway."   
  


Britt snorted. "That's what I keep on telling myself," he said, lowering his head to place a kiss on her lips.   
  


From behind them, Lee cleared his throat, interrupting their embrace. "Uh, Mr. Reid, are you ready?" he asked, nervously fingering the black chauffeur's cap in his hands.   
  


"I'm ready. You look good in that uniform."   
  


"Thank you, sir. You look a lot better in that outfit than Mr. Lowrey did," Lee commented. "The Black Beauty is ready to roll."   
  


"Good. Then we better get going before we get a chance to change our minds."   
  


Lee shrugged. "I've been changing my mind all day long. I'm still not too sure, but I'm ready anyway."   
  


Lowrey greeted them at the foot of the stairs. "Are you going out now?" He stopped suddenly struck speechless. The man he faced in the topcoat was no longer his employer, but the Green Hornet. The man who had once terrified the entire underworld. He groaned inwardly, this was the same man he had dared to hit him. He must have been temporarily insane.   
  


The Green Hornet slightly inclined his head. "Yes, Lowrey, we are leaving now. What do you want?"   
  


"Uh, nothing, sir, nothing at all. Except, Good Luck," the reporter said, reaching out his hand. As the Green Hornet grasped his hand, Lowrey said, "I'll say goodbye to you and the kid here. Mrs. Reid will probably to see you off without me hanging around."   
  


"Thanks, Lowrey."   
  


Inside the garage, on the landing above the Black Beauty, the Green Hornet remained with Casey while Lee trotted down the stairs. "We've reactivated the billboard and the rear garage door earlier today, so we'll be returning the Black Beauty to the townhouse. Have Lowrey follow you in my car and you can leave it there at the townhouse. We'll take it back home when we're done," he instructed.   
  


"We'll do that." She gazed down at the car below them. "Uh, Britt," she said, "I'll say goodbye here."   
  


"You don't want to come with me to the car?"   
  


"No. I want to watch you from here," she said quietly, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.   
  


He gently lifted her chin. Her eyes shone with held back tears. "It's not too late for me to change my mind."   
  


"It is too late. It has always been too late. You have to go ahead with this or you'll never forgive yourself. Or me." She bit her lip. "I'm still afraid for you. Please, please," she pleaded as the tears began to flow down her cheeks against her will, "Please be careful. I don't know what I would do without you."   
  


He wiped the tears with the heel of his gloved hand. "I'll be back. Not even hell itself could stop me from coming back to you."   
  


Feeling frighteningly alone, Casey wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him do down the stairs. She felt like there were miles between them instead of just a few yards.   
  


Standing beside the Black Beauty, the Green Hornet placed a hand on Lee's shoulder, "Lee, this may be very hard for you, but while you're in costume, I would prefer to call you 'Kato'. I can't call you by your own name while we are out, just like you can't ever call me by mine. That's the whole idea of wearing a mask, to keep our true identities secret."   
  


Lee nervously fingered his mask. "I understand, but it makes me feel kind of funny," he said doubtfully.   
  


"I know, but I have to call you something besides 'hey you'."   
  


Lee put on his mask. "The mask fits and so does the name," he said. "I will carry my father's name with pride."   
  


The Green Hornet smiled. "Good man. Now let's get going."   
  


The Green Hornet settled himself into the Black Beauty's back seat and blew out the tension he felt deep in his gut. Lee had replaced the badly stained carpet and leather seat covers, but it still felt so comfortably familiar that it was like the intervening years had never happened. He opened a locker behind the front seat and drew out a slender black, gold-banded collapsible rod and flipped the domed butt aside. A loud buzzing filled the air. "Hornet Sting, check," he said before placing it in a pocket inside his coat. Next he drew out of the locker a streamlined green pistol, flipped open the pistol's butt and inserted a fresh gas cartridge. Satisfied with the reading in the pressure gauge he snapped the butt closed. "Hornet gas gun, check. Kato, check the Hornet scanner."   
  


Kato lifted the lid of the armrest between the front seats to reveal a set of switches and buttons, and flipped a switch. A set of double doors set in the middle of the trunk popped open as a small satellite lifted up on a platform. It beeped its readiness. "Hornet scanner, check," Kato said, flipping the switch back. The miniature flying TV camera settled back into its resting place.   
  


The Green Hornet nodded with a slight smile. He could feel the old rush of excitement run through him. "Let's roll, Kato," he ordered. "You are acquainted with Fort Bradford's location?"   
  


"Yes, sir. As you instructed, I reviewed all the maps of its grounds and the surrounding countryside."   
  


"Good. When we're two miles away from Fort Bradford's outer fence, I want you to buzz me. I'll give you further instructions then. Keep within the speed limit. We don't want to attract the police's attention."   
  


"Yes, sir," Kato responded as he checked the milage on the odometer. He would have preferred to stretch the Black Beauty out, but this was the Green Hornet's show. He was the one calling the shots. Orders were orders.   
  


Satisfied that everything was in order, the Green Hornet leaned back and closed his eyes, not to sleep but to compose his mind and to go over his plans again.   
  


The drive went quickly as the Black Beauty whispered through the night, the miles flowing beneath its wheels like water. Kato glanced at the odometer. "Two miles, sir," he said.   
  


The Green Hornet stirred, opening his eyes. "Good. Pull off the road here."   
  


"Yes sir."   
  


"Activate the Hornet Scanner generator," the Green Hornet ordered as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes glittering in anticipation.   
  


A flip of a switch, "Scanner generator activated."   
  


"Send her up, Kato."   
  


Another switch flipped, "Scanner aloft."   
  


The Green Hornet watched through the narrow back window as the Scanner flew up from its platform. He swung back a pair of doors set behind the front seat and turned on a small TV screen. "I'll take her from here," he said, guiding the scanner off on its mission to observe the nighttime activities of the old weapons depot.   
  


The light-sensitive camera flew silently over the darkened weapons depot. Most of the buildings of the once large installation had been allowed to decay back into the earth, but the low brick administration building was still well maintained as was one of the old barracks buildings and a huge metal-clad warehouse. The Green Hornet guided the delicate instrument past each buildings, searching for signs of activity. All of the buildings were dark, except for the barracks building. He sent the Scanner along the side of the building and up to the single lit window. Inside several men were laughing at a sitcom on a television.   
  


"Once I get in there, I shouldn't have any trouble getting done what I need to," the Green Hornet said.   
  


"How are we getting in?" Kato asked, not noticing that the Green Hornet had not used 'we'.   
  


"I'm not sure yet. There's only one guard in the guardhouse . . . "   
  


"That would be a snap. We just drive up there, and when the guy gets out to check us, you give him a whiff of the Hornet gas, and we're in."   
  


"We could do that, but I don't trust appearances. That guard might not be as careless as we think. They could have become careless, or the apparent laxity could be just a front." The Green Hornet continued as he guided the Scanner along the depot's outer fence, "I can't go through the fence either. It has sensors all along its length. Trying to cut through it without setting them off would be impossible."   
  


"How about going over it?"   
  


"No. That won't work either. The fence is too high to try to jump over and there aren't any trees close enough to use to climb over it. It's electrified so I can cross off trying to climb it."   
  


The Green Hornet spotted a large refrigerated delivery truck pass by them and sent the Scanner trailing after it. The truck came to an intersection where the smooth asphalt of the highway crossed the rough macadam that led to the depot. The truck slowed to a near halt with an earsplitting clash of the gears and turned toward the depot. "That's the key," the Green Hornet said triumphantly as the activated the Scanner's return signal.   
  


"What are you planning on doing?"   
  


"That truck had to come to a near stop to make the turn off to the road leading to the depot. It might be possible to hitch a ride on a truck before it comes to the guardhouse."   
  


"It could be difficult, but I think I could manage it," Kato said, volunteering for the hazardous job.   
  


"Sorry, but you're staying with the car."   
  


"You don't mean you're going to try that? You've got to be kidding," Kato said in disbelief.   
  


"No, I'm not kidding. You have to stay with the car in case I need you. We can't take the Black Beauty in there and if there's any trouble it'll be the only way to get out."   
  


"But climbing up on a truck? That's damn dangerous, even for somebody my age."   
  


"Are you suggesting that I'm too old to try it?" the Green Hornet said sharply as he watched the Scanner settling into its stall.   
  


Kato avoided answering the Green Hornet's question. "Isn't there some other way? I still think driving through the front gate is the best idea," he insisted.   
  


"No can do. I don't want them to know we've been there. I want to make sure that they have no reason to search the trucks. I don't want them to find the bug I'm going to plant."   
  


"I still think you're taking a big risk. You could be hurt or killed."   
  


"That's the chance I'll have to take. Enough arguing," the Green Hornet said firmly as he snapped the TV screen off. "Drive to that intersection up ahead where I saw the truck turn. There's some brush and trees that'll provide enough cover for the Black Beauty."   
  


Kato wanted to argue further, but decided against it. "As you wish, sir," he answered reluctantly as he started the Black Beauty. Following the Green Hornet's instructions, he guided the car under silenced engine and polarized headlights, until they reached the intersection the Green Hornet had spotted.   
  


"There it is," the Green Hornet pointed. "Pull off under those trees. You'll be safe from any accidental discovery there."   
  


The Green Hornet climbed out of the car and leaned down to give Kato his final instructions through his window. "Before I turned off the screen, I saw another truck coming this way. I don't have much time to lose. I'll signal you if I run into any trouble."   
  


"I understand," Kato said, not daring to ask what would happen if the Green Hornet was unable to signal him.   
  


The Green Hornet moved silently through the wild undergrowth until he found a good spot to hide. He did not have long to wait. He crouched low in his hiding place as a lumbering truck clumsily turned off the highway, its blinding highlights sweeping across the road. As it lurched onto the rough side road, the Green Hornet charged out of the bushes behind the truck. Unexpectedly the driver gunned the truck forward, forcing the Hornet to run faster while trying to dodge the rocks that spat out from under the tires. With a final burst of speed he launched himself up at the back of the truck, frantically grabbing for the two vertical bars securing the rear doors. Praying that the driver could not hear him over the road noise, he scrambled hand over hand up to the top of the box.   
  


The wind pulled at him, trying to force him from his precarious perch. There was nothing for him to hold onto. If the truck stopped suddenly, or made any sudden moves, he'd have to learn to fly quickly or wind up as a bloody smear on the roadside. Spotting the bright glow of the guardhouse's light, the Green Hornet pushed himself carefully to the rear of the truck, trying to secure his feet over the edge so that when it stopped he would not be propelled forward.   
  


The truck stopped and above the rumbling engine he could hear the guard boredly speak with the driver. "C'mon Mac, get out and open up the back. You know the boss' orders."   
  


"Shit," the driver cursed. "I'm running late already. Can't you forget the search just once? I don't have anything in there."   
  


"No way, man, that would be the time a bunch of cops would be hiding inside. Now, open up or turn around," the guard demanded, pulling a revolver out of his holster.   
  


"Okay, okay," said the driver, "There ain't any need to get so damn touchy."   
  


Alarmed, the Green Hornet pulled his feet up and pushed himself up to the front of the truck, hoping that searching the roof was not part of the security check.   
  


The rear doors were pulled open and then slammed shut nosily after the guard was satisfied that no one was hiding inside. "Okay, get a move on," he ordered. The truck started fitfully and set off with a groaning of gears with its unseen passenger still on its roof. It bounced rapidly along the ill-kept roadbed until it stopped in front of the large metal building. Large doors opened, allowing the truck to enter.   
  


"Why are you guys to damn late?" a man demanded as he shut the huge doors behind the truck.   
  


"Didn't Joe tell you?"   
  


"Nah, as soon as he drove in, he headed for the john. What happened?"   
  


"Joe ate something that didn't agree with him at the Choke and Puke down the road a ways. I had to hang around 'til he was able to drive."   
  


The man snorted derisively. "The guy's got the stomach like a pregnant broad. Okay, help me get the forklift. You and Joe are the last guys in. Everybody else is already loaded."   
  


The Green Hornet carefully slid forward to watch the men head to the back of the building. From his vantage point he could see that the trucks inside the building were not all the same. Many of them were large delivery vans, but there were also some 18-wheelers, as well as several much smaller minivans. None of the trucks were marked the same, but all of their markings had something to do with agricultural or nursery businesses. Seeing no one near, he carefully slid down from his perch. It was higher than he thought. To break the force of his fall he had to curl and roll as he landed . Barely in time he rolled under a nearby truck as a forklift growled its way toward him. The fit was almost too tight. He painfully hit his right hip on the undercarriage. Continuing to slide on his back he reached the other side of the truck where he was safe from view of the men walking beside the forklift loaded with plastic wrapped bales.   
  


While the men were busy loading the truck he had just left, the Green Hornet crept between the other parked trucks, heading for the front doors of the building. He was trying to quietly ease the door open when he heard voices from the other side. He rapidly moved away until he was backed up against a small panel van bearing the sign of a florist shop. He inched the back door barely wide enough to squeeze through. There wasn't much room inside, filled as it was with large bags of peat moss up to the roof. Only by crouching down was he able to hide just below the back windows. He made himself as comfortable as the cramped space allowed. He would have to bide his time until the loading of the last truck was finished. With a finger he idly dug through one of the bags next to him. The material inside was soft, brown and smelled like the floor of a pine forest, peat moss as labeled. He reached further back and poked into another bag. The material looked much like the peat moss, but had the faint aroma of oregano, or marijuana.   
  


He had not been watching outside and was caught off balance when the van's front door was slammed shut and the engine started. The Green Hornet grabbed at the back door handle, planning to jump out before the van left the warehouse, but through the windows he could see other men climbing into their own vehicles. It was too late, he'd have to go out with the van or chance being seen leaving it. He didn't like not having the chance to conduct a thorough search of the depot, but he had no choice. He hoped that searching the interior of exiting vehicles wasn't part of security.   
  


The van slowed at the guardhouse, but did not come to a full stop. The bales shifted violently to the rear as the van rounded the corner from the guardhouse, almost crushing the Green Hornet against the back door. Disgusted at his bad luck, he glanced outside. He was out of the depot and would have to keep a close watch for the Black Beauty's hidden position. So far there were no other trucks behind the van. He hoped that none would come up until he had the chance to get out when the van slowed at the intersection.   
  


Spotting a landmark, he pressed down on the door's handle. It wouldn't budge. It had been jammed shut by the shifting bales. He shoved his shoulder against the door but it refused to open. Peering out, he could see another truck approaching the guardhouse. He had to escape now or risk being caught in the lights of the next truck's headlights, or worse, caught under its wheels before he could get out of the road.   
  


He hurriedly pulled the Hornet sting and stretched it out to only half its full length. There wasn't enough room to pull it to its complete length, but for the low power he needed to shake the door loose it should be enough. The inside of the van was noisy as it ran along the rough road, loud enough to cover the low hum of the Hornet sting. The door rattled fiercely as the ultra sonic beam of the Hornet Sting beat at it. The Green Hornet bit his lower lip as he felt the van accelerate onto the highway. If he didn't get out soon, the van would be going too fast for him to safely jump out. Finally the door gave way. The Green Hornet replaced the Sting, slid out onto the back bumper and closed the door behind him. He didn't want a banging to alert the driver that he had an unwanted passenger aboard. The van was almost traveling too fast. It was now or never.   
  


He leaped from the van and struck the asphalt too hard, but he instinctively went limp and rolled with the impact of his fall. For several minutes he laid unmoving on the ground, his breath knocked out of him.   
  


Kato ran in panicked alarm to his side. "Mr. Reid, are you okay?"   
  


"I'm fine," the Green Hornet gasped shakily as Kato helped him get to his feet, "But never, never under any circumstances use my real name. Do you understand?" he said angrily.   
  


"I understand. It's just that when I saw you fall from the van, I was afraid that you had been killed."   
  


"Okay, but it must be an absolutely firm rule to never call me Mr. Reid. I am the Green Hornet. Remember that," he said firmly.   
  


Chastened, Kato asked as they walked back to the Black Beauty, "You weren't in there very long. Did you get a chance to get what needed to be done?"   
  


The Green Hornet nodded. "Yes, but just barely. I had to hide in that florist van to avoid being spotted, but before I could get out, the damn thing was driven off with me inside. I would've like to have gotten a better look around, but at least I managed to hide a tracer on the van."   
  


"Then we better get going before we lose it."   
  


"That won't be necessary," the Green Hornet said, checking the time on his watch, "the tracer's range is enough that we can afford to wait for a little while. I want to see how long it is between each truck. I don't want us to be spotted if we're caught between their trucks."   
  


"Then there will be more?"   
  


"Yes, quite a few more. They have trucks of all shapes and sizes in that building. All of them are filled with bales of marijuana disguised as peat moss, along with a few bales of the real stuff."   
  


"That would explain them using a florist truck."   
  


"Yes, and all the others have sign from different agricultural businesses."   
  


"But why would they go through all that trouble? Different sizes of truck, different companies, that's a lot of work."   
  


As a large semi rumbled past them, the Green Hornet checked the time, 15 minutes had passed. "Too many trucks from the same company, on the same road, and at the same time would be too suspicious. That's why they're also spacing their departures. A little used road that suddenly becomes filled with trucks would be noticed by the locals."   
  


Another truck passed them, this time a delivery truck much like the one the Green Hornet had ridden in on. He checked the time, again 15 minutes.   
  


"Are you still planning on visiting here tomorrow morning?" Kato asked.   
  


"If I have the time, yes," the Green Hornet replied. Another fifteen minutes passed, but no truck, then half an hour passed and still no trucks. At forty-five minutes, Kato said, "Do you think they might be holding off because they suspect something?"   
  


"Could be, or more likely they send off a few, then wait a while before sending of another group. It's about time we leave."   
  


"Yes, sir," Kato responded, pulling the Black Beauty out of its hiding place. "There's a lot of miles between us and that van. Will you be able to pick up the tracer's signal this far?"   
  


"No, but his road doesn't intersect with anything until forty miles from here. That van wasn't going very fast, only about 65 or so. I'm sure the Black Beauty can make up the distance easily. Don't you?"   
  


Kato smiled eagerly. "You bet!"   
  


"And Kato." 

"Sir?"   
  


"Keep the lights polarized and the engine silenced until we catch up with the last truck. That way we'll be almost invisible to any prying eyes."   
  


The Black Beauty eagerly ate up the distance. They had they had the delivery truck framed in the pale green glow of their polarized lights in less than half an hour. "Switch to normal lights and switch off the silencer," the Green Hornet ordered. "Pass him, but not too easily. Don't go any faster than a normal car would go."   
  


"Yes, sir," Kato replied as he pulled around the truck.   
  


"Very good," said the Green Hornet. "Keep going until we're out of his sight, then switch back to silent running and polarize the lights again. Then resume high speed."   
  


"Why wait until we're out of his sight?"   
  


"I don't want them to see us doing anything out of the ordinary. If they get suspicious about us word will be passed between them by CB and the night's run will be shut down. I want them to dismiss us as a normal car. That's why the Black Beauty's designed the way she is. As long as we act normally, no one will bother to take a second look at us."   
  


Once out of the truck's view, they moved back up in speed until they overtook the semi that was moving slowly up a large hill. "Pass him?" Kato asked.   
  


"Yes, but don't pull ahead of him very far. I want him to pass us on the way down. We'll stay behind him except when he's climbing a hill. Then we'll pass him and then let him pass us on the downhill side."   
  


"Why don't we just pass him and keep on going until we reach the van?"   
  


"No. I want the semi's bulk between us and the van," the Green Hornet said as he opened the double doors behind the back seat. He clicked on a small circular screen on which was displayed a grid with distances and directions marked on it relative to the Black Beauty's position. A bright pulsing point showed the location of the van ahead of them. A slow beeping filled the car's interior. "The signal from the van is coming in loud and clear. Once we're in the city, you'll pass the truck and follow the homing signal as we run a parallel path to the van's."   
  


"Gotcha."   
  


For the rest of the way they played a leapfrogging game with the big 18-wheeler up and down the hills and valleys between Fort Bradford and the city, never going more than five miles over the posted speed limit, always keeping the semi just in sight. When they reached the city's outskirts the semi remained on a straight path, but they turned to the right for a block and then turned to the left so that they were on a parallel route with the tracer's path. They wound through town, occasionally crossing the van's path before resuming their course. After passing through the city center, they entered the theater district and were caught up in the traffic from the exiting playgoers. Slowing down to a crawl, they became one more black luxury car among many.   
  


The signal continued on past the bright lights of the theaters and their blithe fur-clad patrons and on into a seedy part of the city were even the police traveled in well-armed pairs, and never far from their units. The signal did not stop there but continued on to the warehouse district that served both the rails and the heavily laden barges that plied the great lake that had made the city a major hub of commerce.   
  


The Green Hornet grinned wolfishly as the read the legend on the warehouse that they had followed the homing signal to. "Valle Verde agricultural products, Incorporated," he read aloud.   
  


"You know the place?"   
  


"No, but I do know who sits on the board of chairman."   
  


"Who?"   
  


"Our old friend, the honorable presidential candidate, Senator De la Culebra," the Green Hornet replied sarcastically.   
  


"Are we going in?"   
  


"No, not yet. I'm satisfied with I see here. The senator left town today on a campaign run, but his wife and brother-in-law are on their estate just outside of town. I think they are due for a new partner."   
  
  
  


IV   
  
  
  


Senator De la Culebra had come a long way since his humble beginnings. His mansion with its red tiled roofs and white stucco exterior was reminiscent of the grand hacienda of a Spanish Don. The Green Hornet guided the Scanner over the estate's grounds for possible routes of entry, and rapid escape, if necessary. He would have enjoyed meeting with the Senator face to face, but since he was out of town, his brother-in-law, Miles, would have to do. Miles, who had arrived back in the city a few days ago, could be the weak link in the Senator's organization.   
  


The Green Hornet recalled the Scanner. "There are only a few guards patrolling the grounds. It doesn't look like any dogs are being used," he told Kato. "There's a service entrance in the back. It looks like it's locked but there's no guard on duty there."   
  


"Do you want to use the rockets on the gate?"   
  


"No, that would make too much noise. The Hornet sting can take care it."   
  


Kato drove the darkened Black Beauty around to the service entrance. The Green Hornet climbed out of the car and walked to the wrought iron gate. He gave them a slight shake. They were, as he had guessed locked, but there were no alarms attached to them. He moved back a few paces, brought out the Hornet sting and expanded it to its full length. He twisted the gold collar a few notches, setting it for full strength. The lock was small, and would not take much time to destroy, but its case hardened steel was tough enough to require the higher setting. He brought the powerful ultrasonic weapon to bear on its target and pressed the trigger. A loud, high-pitched hum filled the air, steadily rising in tone as the sting began bucking in the Hornet's hands. A few moments lapsed before the lock gave way with a soft clunk and a small puff of smoke. He quickly swung the gate open.   
  


He remained at the open gate until after Kato had driven the Black Beauty through and then carefully closed the gates behind the waiting car. "There's some cars parked behind the house. We'll park the Black Beauty there. One more limo shouldn't be noticed."   
  


"Will I have to stay with the car again?" Kato asked, starting to worry that he'd never get a chance to see some action.   
  


"Not this time. You'll follow me to the guest wing, but I want you to stay outside, out of sight. I'm not sure exactly where Miles' room is. It's better if there's only one of us wandering around inside."   
  


Their dark clothing provided excellent camouflage as they slipped away from the Black Beauty's parking space and headed toward the house's guest wing. The click on claws on a cement path was the only warning before a pair of Doberman dogs charged. Barely in time, the Green Hornet fired the Hornet gas gun as one of the dogs leapt for Kato's back. Another short whiff of Hornet gas subdued the other dog before it could even growl.   
  


"I thought you said there weren't any dogs on the grounds," Kato commented wryly, surveying the sleeping dogs.   
  


"I didn't see any. They must've been hidden by some of the landscaping. Goes to show you can't always go by first impressions," the Green Hornet said. He frowned as he studied the building in front of them. During the many parties held there he had been an occasional visitor to the mansion as Britt Reid. He knew the floor plan of the first floor very well, but he would have to search the bedroom wing carefully to find Miles' bedroom. "You stay here while I go inside. If I'm not back in half an hour, come and get me," he ordered before entering a pair of French doors into an unoccupied room.   
  


  
  


Matthew Miles awoke with a start as a thin beam of light was shone in his face. "Wha' he mumbled sleepily."   
  


The light flashed off, but being extremely nearsighted, he still could see very little of the intruder's features. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, but a gruff voice lashed out, "Don't make a move."   
  


"Who, who are you?" Miles stammered fearfully.   
  


"Who I am is not important, Miles. I have a message for the Senator . . . "   
  


"You're the Green Hornet!" Miles exclaimed when his weak eyes finally made out the mask. "But you're dead."   
  


"I am? Your brother-in-law is sure that I'm alive. Didn't you see me on the Rivers show?"   
  


"That couldn't have been you. That was just some guy Reid hired."   
  


"Are you sure?"   
  


"That's what Marcus said."   
  


"And you believe him?"   
  


"Sure. Besides the outfit didn't fit the guy right. You're a lot bigger. I can tell that even without my glasses."   
  


"Then I must be the real Green Hornet."   
  


"I guess so," Miles said uneasily, wondering if someone was playing an elaborate trick on him.   
  


"Then either I must be alive, or I'm a ghost. Do you believe in ghosts, Miles?"   
  


"No. I don't. So you're alive. You didn't die after all."   
  


"That's right. I'm still alive."   
  


"What do you want?"   
  


"I want you to give the Senator a message. I've been watching his operation for a long time. It's very well run and I'm impressed, but you've gotten sloppy lately. Too many people are getting killed. You're due for a new partner. Me."   
  


"You?"   
  


"Yes, and of course there is a matter of my cut."   
  


"How much?"   
  


"Fifty percent."   
  


Miles swallowed painfully. "That's too much," he protested.   
  


Pale green eyes narrowed behind the mask. "My services are well worth it. So is my silence."   
  


"I have to discuss it with Marcus . . . "   
  


"Fine."   
  


"He'll be in town tomorrow," Miles volunteered. "Why don't you come here tomorrow to discuss it with him?"   
  


"No. I would prefer we meet at 'our' warehouse."   
  


"Warehouse?"   
  


The Green Hornet snapped impatiently, "I'm growing tired of your act. You know perfectly well what I mean. The Valle Verde warehouse, where the marijuana si shipped in and distributed to the rest of the country. I want to inspect it. Tomorrow at 10 P.M. will be satisfactory."   
  


"Ten o'clock at night?"   
  


"Yes," the Green Hornet answered sharply, "at night."   
  


"I'll tell him, but there's no guarantee that he'll show up."   
  


"If he doesn't show, I'll reveal your entire scheme to the Feds and to the press."   
  


"Okay, I got your message," Miles said unhappily.   
  


"Good, "the Green Hornet said softly as he raised the gas gun under Miles' nose. "I think you need of some more rest," he said as the pale green mist covered Miles' face.   
  


"Drop the gun," a rough voice demanded behind the Green Hornet. Slowly he tossed the Hornet gas gun to the floor. "Now put your hands up real slow. Don't try any funny stuff or I'll plug you where you stand."   
  


The Green Hornet turned slowly around, keeping his hands high up in the air. He saw that there were two men in the doorway, both holding guns on him. There was no way out.   
  


"Move aside," ordered one of the men, warily waving the Green Hornet aside with the point of his gun. The gunman walked past his captive and shook Miles. When he didn't awaken, the gunman shook him harder. Miles still did not stir.   
  


"Is he dead?" demanded the other man, keeping his gun trained on the Green Hornet.   
  


"Nah, I don't see any sign of blood, unless he was poisoned," the man answered as he checked Miles' body. He pressed a hand to Mile's neck, "Pulse is still strong."   
  


The Green Hornet spoke, "He's asleep. I've used a sleeping gas on him. He'll wake up in a few hours, feeling none the worse," he explained.   
  


"You better be right," the gunman growled. "We better take him to Mrs. De la Culebra. She'll want to decide what to do with this guy."   
  


The Green Hornet had seen Shannon De la Culebra before and had always regarded her as a very beautiful woman. Her fresh, fragile beauty entranced everyone who met her. Everyone thought of her as the ideal of simple feminine grace, so beautiful that she needed no makeup on her delicately freckled features.   
  


The woman that stepped into the sitting room of her boudoir, was indeed Shannon De la Culebra, but for the mane of flame red hair and alabaster skin, she was unrecognizable as the Senator's wholesome wife. Her hips swayed alluringly as she moved into the room. Her peignoir did nothing to hide her lush body's nakedness. It was thin enough that the Green Hornet could tell that her red hair was completely natural. Before the door closed behind her, he spotted a naked man slipping out through another door.   
  


The leading gunman cleared his throat nervously. "Sorry to disturb your, ah, sleep, ma'am, but when I thought I heard something in your brother's room, we checked it out and found this guy."   
  


"Is my brother all right?" she asked, not even bothering to feign concern.   
  


"I guess so, except he won't wake up. We shook him real hard, but he still won't wake up. This guy said he gave Mr. Miles some kind of sleeping gas."   
  


She smiled. "Don't you believe him?" She continued at the gunman's puzzled frown, "Surely you know who this is," she purred as she circled the Green Hornet, her fingers lightly touching his coat. "You have done something all the police and all the hitmen in the country have failed to do. You have just gotten the drop on that fearsome master criminal, the Green Hornet."   
  


She walked her fingers up the Green Hornet's arm. "I thought Marcus' claim that the Green Hornet was still alive was just a campaign ploy to get Britt Reid. I saw what happened on Rivers' show, but I figured Reid had managed to outmaneuver my husband. Now I'm not so sure." She ran her hands down his chest, outlining the weapons under the coat with her fingers.   
  


"Then you believe that I am the real Green Hornet."   
  


"Marcus and I had quite an argument. He showed me that gruesome souvenir of his. I couldn't believe that anyone could have survived those injuries." A delicate hand traveled up to touch the Green Hornet's cheek.   
  


"Perhaps I am an imposter then."   
  


With a light flick of her hand she knocked the Green Hornet's hat to the floor. Her eyes gleamed hungrily as she ran her hand through the thick grey hair above his mask. "If you looked younger, probably, but you're about the right age. Are you the real Green Hornet?"   
  


"I am"   
  


"Then that coat with all those bullet holes was a fake? Was it all a trick to make everyone think that you were killed?" 

The Green Hornet shrugged slightly. "Why don't we discuss that after your husband and I have finished out business together?"   
  


Her laugh was as light as the ringing of a silver bell, but it sent a shiver down the Green Hornet's spine. "No, I think not," she said, running her hand along the earpiece of his mask. The Green Hornet pulled his head away from her touch reflexively.   
  


"I suggest you don't make a move or my men will shoot you. At this range you will be truly dead. But let us not talk about dying," she said, moving her hand down the slope of his neck, and on down his chest until she had reached the top button of the topcoat. "You may even find what I have in mind enjoyable," she said as she began slipping each button free. "I remember hearing about you when I was a little girl. I used to read comic books all the time. I was fascinated by all those super heroes in brightly colored, and tight, costumes. So tight that they showed every rippling muscle." 

Slipping the coat from his shoulders she continued, "And here in my own hometown there was a real live masked master criminal who dressed like an ordinary person in a green overcoat, and rode around in a plain black car." She ran her hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscle under the fabric. "I used to fantasize about what might be under that coat."   
  


"I would hardly call the Black Beauty plain," the Green Hornet commented drily.   
  


"No, I guess you're right. It is amazing that so much power could be concealed under such an ordinary exterior," she said as she slipped the silk scarf from his neck. She caressed her cheek with it. "Pure silk," she murmured, enjoying the scarf's smooth softness and the male-scented warmth that radiated from it. "Very expensive. You have excellent taste, "she said, wrapping the scarf's white length around her ivory throat.   
  


"Thanks," he responded, his voice coldly formal.   
  


"You're welcome," she said with equally extreme formality as she began loosening his tie. "Did you know that the tie has been considered by some as having originated as a phallic symbol?" She removed the tie from his neck with a quick flick of her wrist, held it between her fingers for a moment. "Silk again, 100% I'd say." She carelessly dropped it to the floor.   
  


She moistened her full crimson lips with a lingering movement of her tongue. Her emerald eyes gleamed with a bright internal fire. Slowly with exaggerated care she unbuttoned his shirt, until she had reached the last button above his belt. Tilting her side wise, she playfully studied his face, wondering how he would react if she slipped her hand lower. Daringly she loosed his belt and reached for the button of his pants. She saw the tensing of his jaw, the subtle flaring of the mask-covered nostrils. Not yet, she decided, she didn't want to push him to dangerous rebellion. No, it would be more pleasurable to prolong things a bit longer, to ignite the fire that she knew smoldered just beneath the cold dispassionate exterior.   
  


She pulled the shirt free and undid the last button. Her fingers trembled as she gracefully and achingly slowly removed the shirt from his body. Her hands, pale against his deeply bronzed skin, caressed the concavity of his flat belly, fingering teasingly the silver hair that led tantalizingly lower. She continued upward following the narrow trail of silver strands, up over his ribs and across powerful pectoral muscles, seductively circling brown nipples. Slipping the shirt from his broad shoulders she ran her thumbs delicately across his collarbones while briefly kneading with her fingers thick neck muscles, feeling a momentary, involuntary release of tension in them. Down her hands flowed, caressing hard biceps as she pushed the shirt down his back and along his arms until she came to his gloved hands. Hands that were still balled into tight fists. She smiled, studying green eyes that were paler than her own, and undid the buttons at his wrists. The shirt joined the hat and tie on the floor at their feet.   
  


Her full breasts heaved with barely restrained desire as she stepped back to study the Green Hornet. "No man has ever affected me more than you have," she breathed. "I want you more than I have ever wanted any other man before."   
  


"What about your husband?" he asked, seeming not to be affected by her actions.   
  


She laughed contemptuously, tossing her hair from her shoulders. "What about him? He doesn't care what I do or who I have in my bed. All he cares about is his precious campaign."   
  


"And financing it with an elaborate scheme involving drugs and weapons," the Green Hornet said harshly.   
  


She came closer and began running a crimson fingernail up and down a ragged path from his sternum to his navel. "What makes you think he's running it or even knows anything about it?"   
  


"An operation that size, the money that's coming from it. He'd be a fool not to suspect anything."   
  


"He is a fool. He knows nothing at all. He doesn't care where the money comes from, just as long as it keeps on pouring in."   
  


"The connections in the Justice Department, Forestry, State and local police. They're all yours?" the Green Hornet asked skeptically.   
  


She smiled slightly. "Like I said before, my husband doesn't care who I sleep with. There have been a lot of men who are willing to trade favors for my 'favors'." She circled him, tracing the scars that criss-crossed his body in crazy quilt fashion. "So your being shot wasn't a lie. So many scars . . . " she said, feeling a sadistic thrill as she pictured the proud man standing in front of her writhing in agony. "A lesser man would have died."   
  


"I almost did," the Green Hornet answered grimly.   
  


"Ah, but you didn't! You're a survivor. Against all odds you triumphed over death. All the men I had before were just boys playing at being men. Those so-called brave athletes, those sportsmen pretending they're so tough, they're nothing compared to you. They have sculpted their bodies until they are works of art, but they would not have been able to go through what you did and lived." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her hungry mouth against his. His mouth was momentarily hard, resistant, but softened and she felt his hands slip down her back. She pressed her broad hips against his. "Admit it, you want me as much as I want you," she breathed. She slipped her hand along his stomach, past the waistband of his pants.   
  


Roughly grabbing her hand, the Green Hornet stopped its downward movement. "I don't believe a word you said," he said harshly. "De la Culebra is behind the entire operation. Maybe you're pretending you are, or maybe he's using you, just like you're using him. I don't care. I'm here to set up a business arrangement with him, not sleep with his wife."   
  


She slapped him angrily as the gunmen cocked their guns, "Do you dare to reject me?"   
  


"No, I'm not rejecting you." He allowed his eyes to slip along the curves of her body. "Regardless of what my own desires might be, I want to settle the business with De la Culebra before I consider anything between us. I don't want to endanger delicate matters by fooling around with a partner-to-be's wife."   
  


She came close again, pressing her nails against his chest, drawing small points of blood with their tips. "Wouldn't you like just a small taste of the pleasure you could find in my arms?"   
  


The Green Hornet glanced at the guards behind him, "Well, when you put it that way, maybe a little sampling of the goods wouldn't hurt," he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety purr. "But this must be just between us." He nodded meaningfully toward the guards. "Get rid of them. I don't like having an audience," he said, placing his hand on her breast, fingering its erect nipple.   
  


She dismissed the guards with an aristocratic wave of her hand. Then she playfully freed herself from the Green Hornet's grasp, and walked toward her boudoir. "Come with me and I will show you pleasures beyond your wildest imaginings."   
  


The guards stood uncertainly where they were. The man she was inviting into her private chamber was no ordinary lover. "Uh, ma'am, er, Mrs. De la Culebra," one of the guards said, "You shouldn't be alone with that guy."   
  


"I can handle things from here. Return to your duties," she firmly ordered.   
  


"Uh, maybe you should take off his mask, or tie him up, or something," the guard suggested uncomfortable, "He looks too dangerous to leave loose with you."   
  


"No," she answered. "The mask will stay where it is until it is given to me willingly. She smiled slyly. "As for tying up, that is something that will have to be explored."   
  


"But ma'am . . . "   
  


"Enough!" she said angrily, "Leave us!"   
  


She turned her attentions to the Green Hornet as the door closed behind the guards. "Good help is so hard to get these days." She placed his hand on her breast. "Now where were we?" she said huskily.   
  


Kato, beginning to chafe, checked his watch worriedly. Half an hour had already passed. Everything might be going as planned, but the Hornet's life could be endangered if he delayed too long. Slipping through the French doors the Green Hornet had earlier entered, he passed through the empty room and opened the door into the hallway. Hearing some voices, he froze.   
  


"Do you think it was a good idea to leave him alone with her?" an armed man said to another as he holstered a pistol and began rummaging through his pockets. "I mean, with those scars and all, he's a tough customer. Damn big, too. He could kill her without us hearing a thing."   
  


The other man pulled out a package of cigarettes and offered them to his companion. "Nah, she's got that guy wrapped around her little finger," he gave a short dirty laugh. "Right now he's probably so damn busy humping her that he wouldn't notice if every cop in the city was in the same room."   
  


"I don't know. She was putting all her moves on him and all he did was stand there and talk about some kind of business with the Senator."   
  


"I don't think you're so much worried about her as you're disappointed because you wanted to see them do it right in front of you." Laughing obscenely, the men continued down the hallway.   
  


Kato crouched furtively behind the cracked door as they walked past him, then he slipped out of the room. The door gave a betraying creak and the guards spun around fumbling with their cigarettes as they snatched at their holstered weapons. Kato lit into them, hitting the man on the right with a flying kick, following through with a rapid chop on the neck. The other man had already drawn his gun as Kato was finishing the first. With a single smooth flowing movement Kato flashed a dart into the man's gun hand before he could fire. A quick kick into the groin followed by a chop at the neck sent him to the ground beside his unconscious partner. Momentarily Kato crouched like a black tiger over his prey, listening for any alarm.   
  


Finding there was none, he pulled the men into a room and tied them up with swags pulled from a window. After hearing the guard's conversation, he hesitated about disturbing the Green Hornet, but he had been ordered to come in after half an hour had passed. He shrugged. Orders were orders, he reasoned as he headed for the room that the guards had just left.   
  


He was puzzled to find the room empty and was about to leave when he heard a quickly silenced feminine yelp behind another door. Throwing the door wide open, he was surprised to find the Green Hornet struggling with a beautiful naked woman beneath his own half-naked body on a round red satin sheeted bed. "Do you need any help?" he said sardonically.   
  


"Yes, dammit, I do!" the Green Hornet growled, trying to stop the woman from digging her nails into his eyes. His left shoulder already bore red welts from her raking fingernails. He was having trouble keeping his footing on the long white fur that covered the entire floor while trying to keep a hand over her mouth. "Get something to tie her up with!"   
  


Kato raised his eyebrows under his mask, wondering exactly who he should be helping. The room was like something out of a stag film. Hundreds of votive candles provided the only light as sandalwood incense heavily scented the air. A large mirror above the bed reflected the Green Hornet's deeply tanned body entwined with the woman's pale form. "How about this?" he asked, lifting up a complex arrangement of leather straps and buckles from a long table near the bed.   
  


"No! Dammit! Find something else!" the Green Hornet demanded angrily. "Shit!" he yelled, drawing his suddenly bitten hand away from the woman's mouth.   
  


"You goddam fucking bastard!" she screamed. "I'm going to cut your fucking balls off and feed them to the goddam dogs!"   
  


The Green Hornet forced her back down, clamping his hand back over her mouth, while trying to avoid her fierce kicks aimed at his crotch. "Damn it! Find something before she turns me in a damn soprano!"   
  


Kato searched the devices strewn on the table. There were things that looked like they came out of a porno catalog. The woman had kinky taste. He couldn't figure out how most of the things were used. Finally finding something, he held up a set of hand and foot manacles. "Will these do?"   
  


"Yes! Bring them over here."   
  


Kato tilted his head, regarding the tangle of bodies on the bizarrely shaped bed. "Wouldn't it be quicker just to slug her?"   
  


"Kato . . . " The Green Hornet glared menacingly.   
  


Spotting a flash of color, Kato pulled out several scarves and brought them with the manacles to the Green Hornet. "Put those manacles on her feet and hands while I hold her." the Green Hornet ordered. After her limbs were safely secured, he removed his hand from her mouth and roughly tightened a scarf across her mouth before she could spew out more obscenities.   
  


"What took you so damn long?" he demanded as he pulled the struggling woman to a hook set near the head of the bed, or at least what passed for one on a round bed. "These manacles are a little too large for her wrists and ankles, but they should keep her here long enough for us to get the hell out of here."   
  


"I heard some guys talking about you and her in the hallway. I got the impression that you might be enjoying yourself," Kato commented as he searched the room for the Green Hornet's clothing. "Who is she?"   
  


"She's Shannon De la Culebra," the Green Hornet replied as he headed for the sitting room.   
  


"The Senator's wife? Are you crazy? What's the big idea of messing with her?"   
  


The Green Hornet found his shirt and threw it on. "I wasn't 'messing' with her. I didn't touch her."   
  


"It sure looked like you were doing a lot of touching back there."   
  


"Dammit!" the Green Hornet snapped angrily. "Those two men you spotted in the hallway, caught me in Miles' room. They brought me here and she practically climbed into my pants."   
  


"So you were protecting your virtue?" Kato said doubtfully.   
  


"I don't have to justify what I was doing to you," the Green Hornet gritted. "I'm going to have to go back to Miles' room and find my gas gun."   
  


"I have it right here," Kato said quietly as he handed over the green gun. "I'm sorry for what I said."   
  


"Apology accepted." A smile slowly spread across the Green Hornet's face. "I guess it did look bad back there." Placing a firm hand on Kato's shoulder, he added, "Don't say a word to 'you know who'."   
  


"You want to keep it a secret? How are you going to explain those scratches on your shoulder?"   
  


"Just let me take care of explaining things. Okay?"   
  


"Sure," Kato agreed, glad to be relieved of the responsibility of telling Mrs. Reid what had happened.   
  


They quickly slipped out of the house, keeping close to the plantings near its walls. Above their heads, every window in the house suddenly lit up. "Somebody must've discovered the Senator's wife," Kato said, pausing on the walkway, exposing himself in the moonlight.   
  


"Then we better get moving instead of standing around for them to find us," the Green Hornet said, pulling Kato back into cover barely in time as a bullet narrowly missed his hear. They ran quickly to the Black Beauty as several men shouted after them to stop. The Green Hornet dived into the back seat as Kato climbed into the front. "Get us out of here!" he ordered.   
  


The Green Hornet watched behind them as Kato threw the big car into reverse and backed it rapidly out of its parking space beside a Rolls Royce. He became increasingly puzzled as he saw the guards get into some of the cars, only to get back out and mill around in confusion. "Something's strange going on back there."   
  


"Not so strange, sir," Kato said with a big grin as he held up a fistful of wires. "I made sure that nobody's going to follow us."   
  


"Very good, Kato. Very good," the Green Hornet said in approval.   
  


"What about the gate?" Kato asked.   
  


"Blast it. We have no need for subtlety now."   
  


Kato lifted the lid of the armrest between the front seats. He flipped a switch and heard a low-pitched whine. The whine stopped and a tell tale lit indicating that the parking light hatches had fully opened and locked in position. Kato firmly pressed the button next to the switch, sending a pair of small rockets flaring out from the Black Beauty. The rockets skimmed along the driveway until they struck the gates, blasting them free from their hinges. With its way no longer barred, the Black Beauty roared off into the night.   
  


  
  


The Green Hornet removed his mask and silently gazed at Casey as she slept on the living room couch in the townhouse. The sheet that kept the couch free from dust and sunlight was pulled up over her shoulders. He gently grasped her shoulder, hating to wake her. "Time to go home, Casey," he whispered as she stirred.   
  


"Oh, you're back," she yawned. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."   
  


"Why didn't you go home with Lowrey?" he said sitting down beside her on the couch.   
  


"I couldn't wait at home," she answered, stretching leisurely. She crinkled her nose, "What is that smell? What you been into?"   
  


"I had a short ride in a truck with some peatmoss, and marijuana," Britt answered evasively.   
  


She shook her head, her forehead furrowed in thought, as she tried to figure out the odd scent that saturated his clothing. "No, that's not it. It smells like sandalwood, or something. Musk, maybe?" She took a long sniff. "Smells like you wound up in a cheap whorehouse."   
  


Britt took a deep breath. "No, not exactly..." he began reluctantly.   
  


"Uh, Mr. Reid, Mrs. Reid," Lee interrupted, "If you need me, I'll be in the garage. The Black Beauty needs a little cleaning up."   
  


Frowning, Casey watched Lee leave. "What did you two get into?" she demanded.   
  


"I went to De la Culebra's house to talk with him."   
  


"Isn't he out campaigning?" 

"Yes, he is, I saw his brother-in-law instead."   
  


"The man you saw near Wolverton?"   
  


"The same."   
  


"And?" she pressed, feeling like she was pulling teeth. "What else happened?"   
  


"A pair of guards caught me and brought me to Shannon De la Culebra's room."   
  


"Her bedroom?"   
  


"Right."   
  


"I see," Casey said, "And what went on there?"   
  


"Apparently when she was very young, she had a crush on the Green Hornet."   
  


"And she decided to indulge her fantasies with you?" she said in a tight voice. "I've heard a lot of things about her. Like, whatever man she sets her sights on, she gets. How far did she get with you?"   
  


"I managed to keep my pants on. The Green Hornet's 'virtue' remains intact," he assured her.   
  


"You rejected her? She's very young and very beautiful."   
  


"That kind of beauty is only superficial. Inside, she's not a very attractive person," Britt answered. Casey frowned doubtfully. He took her hands into his own. "Before I met you, I wandered all over America and most of Europe looking for someone I could really care for . . . "   
  


"And slept in most of the beds . . . " she interjected sarcastically.   
  


"Okay, I admit it. I slept with a lot of women and sometimes I was so damn drunk that I didn't know, or care, whose bed I was sharing," he said bitterly. "But for all that I never found what I was looking for. Not until I met you, right in my own backyard." He tenderly ran his hand through her coppery gold hair. "And then I was to damn blind that I didn't realize it until it was almost too late. No matter how difficult I was, you were always there for me. Casey, do you honestly think I'd ever risk losing you, just because some redhead shook her backside at me?" he said quietly.   
  


She studied his eyes, trying to find deception in them, but could only find a deeply abiding love. "No, I believe you," she said softly.   
  


She picked up the mask and placed it on his face. "I can see why she was so attracted to you. There is something sexy about a masked mystery man." She began loosening his tie. "You know, I never had sex with masked man before, "she said huskily. 

   [1]: seedschapter6.htg/.wav
   [2]: seedschapter6.htg/1.wav
   [3]: seedschapter6.htg/2.wav



	7. Green Vengence

Green Vengeance   
  


I   
  
  
  


"Mr. Reid," Linda Travis' voice crackled over the intercom, "There's a Dr. Torrence here to see you."   
  


"Torrence?" Britt echoed, trying to remember where he had heard the name from.   
  


"Yes. He's from Fort Bradford. The appointment was made a few days ago by Mrs. Reid."   
  


_Fort Bradford, _Britt thought, then he remembered. He had asked Miss Travis to make an appointment with the director of the research project the same day he and Lee were attacked near the Sentinel. The attack, and his decision to resurrect the Green Hornet had made the appointment unnecessary. He should have canceled it. That is, if he had remembered about it in the first place.   
  


"Mr. Reid?"   
  


"Yes, Linda, bring him in."   
  
  
  


Britt was not a small man, but the human mountain that lumbered into his office made him feel as small as a circus dwarf. "Mr. Reid," the big bushy-bearded man jovially said, taking his offered hand between hands as big as ham shanks, "I am so pleased to finally meet you. I have read a great many of your editorials and have always wanted to meet you in person."   
  


"Thank you," Britt replied, slightly wincing at the strength of the grip that enveloped his hand, "I'm always glad to hear that someone enjoys my editorials."   
  


Britt gestured for Torrence to sit on the black leather couch that sat under the window wall the looked out into the city room. There was no way the man could fit into one of the chairs in his office.   
  


"I'm glad to see you could fit our meeting into your busy schedule." Britt commented after Linda had left.   
  


The sturdy couch groaned under Torrence's weight as he sat down. "I am always glad to talk about my work at Fort Bradford. By the way I saw you on Philo Rivers show the other day. That was quite an event wasn't it?"   
  


"Yes, it was."   
  


"I almost fell out of my seat when I saw the Green Hornet appear on the set. Who would've thought he was still alive after all these years?"   
  


Britt nodded in agreement. "I was as shocked as you were."   
  


"You handled yourself very well. I admire a man who can take control of a situation when everyone is losing their heads."   
  


"Thank you. I tried my best."   
  


"That you did. Tell me though, what do you think of the report claiming that the Green Hornet raped Senator De la Culebra's wife?"   
  


"I doubt that it's true," Britt answered. "It doesn't sound like something the Green Hornet would do. He's a dangerous man, but he was never known to attack a helpless woman, especially in such a brutal manner."   
  


"But I heard that witnesses said that they saw the Green Hornet's car leave through a service gate after blowing it to bits with rockets. Surely there isn't another car that can do that."   
  


"Not that I know of," Britt reluctantly admitted. "It's just that the Green Hornet I knew was not a rapist. In his own twisted way, he had a sense of honor. He terrorized the entire underworld, but he always treated the women he came across with respect."   
  


"Perhaps the Green Hornet you knew in the past, but who can say what happened to a man like that over the years?"   
  


"I just hope the report was wrong. If the Hornet has changed for the worse, this city is in for a rough time. He's a cunning man. With his car and weapons he could become a real threat to everyone in this city," Britt said grimly.   
  


"Yes, very serious indeed," Dr. Torrence agreed. "He must've been out of his mind to attack a presidential candidate's wife. He has made himself a very dangerous enemy in De la Culebra. You know Mr. Reid, there is one thing I don't understand," Torrence said thoughtfully.   
  


"What's that?"   
  


"I thought all presidential candidates and their families are protected by the Secret Service, and yet there were none at that house."   
  


Britt shrugged. "De la Culebra refused the coverage, claiming he didn't want to put that kind of distance between him and the common person, but I understand that he doesn't leave himself completely defenseless. He has a cadre of personal bodyguards that protect him and his wife at all times."   
  


"They weren't much help last night."   
  


"When the Hornet wants into a place, I don't think there's a humanly possible way to stop him. No matter how many people there are."   
  


"Unfortunately, you're probably right. But enough of such talk. I know you didn't ask me to come here to talk about the Green Hornet.   
  


"Yes, I heard a little bit about your research project at Fort Bradford and I wanted to ask you a few questions about it," Britt admitted.   
  


"Tell me how did you hear about us?"   
  


"Rumors, mainly, and whispers about odd things going on around here."   
  


"Isn't it unusual for the editor-publisher of a paper the size of the Daily Sentinel to cover a story himself?"   
  


Britt smiled proudly. "I'm a third generation newspaperman. I like to keep in practice. Sometimes I like to take advantage of my being boss to take on a story myself, especially when the subject matter intrigues me."   
  


"I can understand your enjoyment in being personally involved in your newspaper. I feel exactly the same way. That is why I enjoy this project so much. I get the chance to perform most of my own bench work. That is the reason I became a scientist in the first place. I despise spending all my time with paperwork and public relations. But while I might find it fascinating, our project surely is not all that intriguing, at least not to a newspaperman. "   
  


"I find it intriguing that there's so much secrecy surrounding it. What you're working on must be very sensitive." 

Dr. Torrence laughed heartily. "It's not really all that sensitive," he explained, "It's rather we like to be cautious in discussing our work until we are confident of the direction our work is taking."   
  


"What are you working on?" Britt asked.   
  


"You are familiar with reports detailing the beneficial properties of cannabis in the treatment of glaucoma and the alleviation of the nausea associated with chemotherapy?"   
  


"I've heard about those reports. Aren't they mainly anecdotal in nature?"   
  


"No, Mr. Reid, they are not. Such beneficial effects have been widely documented. The problem is that the actual component responsible for these effects is difficult to isolate and purify in adequate quantities for proper scientific investigation."   
  


"Is that what your project is about, isolating and purifying this compound?"   
  


"Indeed it is. We have just recently isolated that compound and will be conducting studies very soon on laboratory animals."   
  


"That must take a lot of raw material. Do you get it all from illegal drug seizures?"   
  


"Oh no, that would never work. That kind of supply would be totally inadequate for our needs. A drug bust of the quantity we need is infrequent at best and the quality of such material is highly variable. To use such material would be like relying on the capture of wild rats for laboratory experiments. No, what we do is grow our own cannabis on some forestry land north of here.   
  


"That's the reason for the secrecy. It wouldn't look good for the federal government to be seen growing the very stuff it is trying to destroy. We have to keep everything quiet. Why, we even have to fly the raw material in on helicopters in the middle of the night to avoid unwanted publicity. If we didn't we'd get all kinds of flak from everybody from people who want to decriminalize all drugs to those zero-tolerance types. Our work would never get done."   
  


"So why did you consent to this interview?"   
  


"Because, like I said before, we are very, very close to a breakthrough. All we need is a few more months."   
  


"I think I hear you asking me to stay quiet until you make the breakthrough."   
  


"It would be most appreciated, Mr. Reid. In a few months we would be able to guarantee you an exclusive on our entire project. And its success."   
  


"I'll have to think about it. I don't believe in sitting on a story, unless there are compelling reasons for doing so, but perhaps in this case, it might be better to hold off for a short time in favor of getting a more complete story later."   
  


"Fine, fine, I am so glad you see things my way. It is such a pleasure to deal with a man of your caliber."   
  


"Agreed then, but doctor, do you think you could send me as much material on your project as you can spare? I would like to study more on what you are trying to accomplish," Britt said rising to his feet.   
  


Torrence grinned broadly. "Of course. I will send you material of some of the more interesting aspects of our work. With, of course, explanations in layman's terms."   
  


"I'd appreciate that Doctor. I've dabbled a bit in electronics, but when comes to the most recent developments in biochemistry I'm completely in the dark." Britt didn't mention that he and Kato had dabbled enough in electronics to wire his entire townhouse and a certain black car with gadgets that would make a super-spy envious. The Sting and gas gun themselves were adaptations of someone else's failed ideas that when reworked by himself and Kato had worked extremely well.   
  


Torrence nodded in understanding, then stopped thoughtfully. "I was thinking about the Green Hornet fellow and what he did to Mrs. De la Culebra. I swear that if I ever got my hands on that animal I would make him pay very dearly for what he did. Animals like that should not exist in our society."   
  


"Well, Doctor, I do hope that the Hornet does get what's coming to him."   
  


Britt stood in his office watching Linda escort the massive scientist to the elevator. _I sure hope the Green Hornet doesn't ever wind up in his hands,_ he thought.   
  
  
  
  
  


"So you didn't get much out of your visit with Dr. Torrence," Kato commented, waiting while the Green Hornet guided the Scanner around the Valle Verde warehouse.   
  


"No. He gave me a somewhat plausible tale about it all being a legitimate research project and considering the material he gave me and the people I've spoken to since, it does sound genuine."   
  


"But there's really nothing to it, is there?"   
  


"They may actually be doing some kind of research there. Even a project backed by a senator as powerful as De la Culebra has to have something to show for the funds they're getting."   
  


"Why didn't you ask about the murders near Wild Dog Ridge?"   
  


"I thought about it, but decided not to. There's really no way that Britt Reid could've heard about them and made the connection with the project at Fort Bradford. Also I didn't want them to know how much I really do know. It's best to let them think that Britt Reid has swallowed the entire story. That will hopefully take some of the pressure off."   
  


"I see." Kato was silent a moment, thinking. "How did Mrs. Reid take that story about the Green Hornet raping De la Culebra's wife?"   
  


The Green Hornet looked sharply up from the screen. "She didn't like it," he said grimly, not wanting to elaborate about the argument they had after the accusation had made the news. Casey was able to believe that the Green Hornet had not attacked the senator's wife, but the scratches the woman had left on his hide had hinted at something else entirely. No matter how long they had been married, jealously still managed to occasionally rear its ugly head.   
  


"I thought you had straightened it out last night." Kato mentioned remembering the sounds of lovemaking he had heard when he had left the garage after putting the Black Beauty to bed.   
  


"So did I." The Green Hornet snapped off the Scanner's screen. "Call the Scanner back. I don't see anything out of the ordinary there. It's all quiet."   
  


Kato activated the recall signal. "It should be quiet. We're here an hour early."   
  


"I wanted to get here early enough to get a good look around undisturbed."   
  


"Are you expecting a trap?"   
  


"I wouldn't be surprised."   
  


"Hasn't anyone ever seriously taken up the Green Hornet's offer of a partnership?" 

"No. Most of the Green Hornet's prospective partners usually consider it close to dealing with the devil. They always try to screw the Green Hornet before he screws them." He grinned wryly. "One way or the other the deal always falls through. Let's take a look at this place while we still have the time," he said getting out of the car.   
  


The Valle Verde warehouse was no different from the warehouses that were crowded between the railroad tracks and the docks. It was cleaner than those that had been partially abandoned, but not as well maintained as those that served factory outlet bargain hunters. Although it was fairly clean, no effort had been made to clean the high, narrow windows that were grimy from the soot of the city's faltering industrial heart. Overall there was nothing to distinguish it from all the others in the city or in the entire country.   
  


A door in the side of the warehouse hidden in the shadows of a nearby building was easily convinced open by the not too gentle assault of the Hornet sting. The Green Hornet and Kato carefully slipped through the door, alert to any movement or noise. The warehouse's interior smelled like an industrialist's idea of a farm. The heavy organic smell of peat moss, soil builder and steer manure mingled with the acrid chemical odor to fertilizers and pesticides.   
  


The dim light of the Green Hornet's flashlight picked out stacked bales of peat moss against a far wall. He walked over and with a finger poked a small hole in one of the bags. "Peat moss," he said after sniffing the light brown material on his fingers. "They're probably hiding the marijuana further back in the pile, to evade detection by searchers."   
  


"Like us," Kato commented with a nod.   
  


"Yeah," the Green Hornet agreed, his sharp eyes searching around the building. He opened a box and pulled out a can of insecticide. "I saw the same stuff at that plantation. This is probably where they get it."   
  


"How nice they keep it all in the family."   
  


The Green Hornet nodded absently. He felt an odd prickling behind his neck. "Move, Kato!" he shouted, pushing Kato to the side as a high stack of boxes came tumbling down.   
  


Dazed, Kato began getting to his feet, but found himself lifted into the air by a massive pair of hands that threw him across the floor like a ragdoll. Barely in time he stopped his slide before slamming into a wall. A heavy crowbar sliced the air above his head as he tried to get to his feet. Kicking and dodging he fought his way up as five men, armed with crowbars, surrounded him. A well-thrown dart stung a thug's crowbar from his hand and several rapid-fire, sharp-fisted blows dropped him beside his weapon. The surprised thugs paused in their attack, giving Kato just long enough to draw out a pair of nunchuks. Spinning and flicking them about him he cleared a space around him, sweeping his foes away from him like chaff before a strong wind.   
  


"Drop your toys, little man!" a deep voice roared, "Or I'll pull your friend's arms out of their sockets."   
  


Shocked, Kato looked up to see a huge, dark bearded man holding the Green Hornet arms so tightly behind his back that his shoulder blades nearly touched. Reluctantly Kato dropped the nunchuks.   
  


"Very good, little man," grinned the giant. At the same moment Kato's world exploded into a painful blinding light.   
  


Martinez swaggered out now that the coast was clear. He lightly stepped over Kato's prone body as he walked over to examine the Green Hornet held helpless by the massive Dr. Torrence. "You shoulda stayed kept yer nose outa things Hornet. You shoulda stayed dead," he said, pulling out a set of brass knuckles and fitting them over his hand. "Yer outa yer league old man," he gritted, throwing a brass knuckled fist into the Green Hornet's face, ripping a bloody tear along his jaw. Another blow to the Green Hornet's face cracked the hard plastic mask, which barely absorbed enough force to prevent a broken nose. With a snaggle-toothed grin, Martinez listened to his captive's pained gasping. "Ain't cha got anythin' to say, old man?"   
  


The Green Hornet looked up at his tormentor, daring him with a grim green-eyed glare. "Tell Torrence to let me go and we'll see who's the better man."   
  


Martinez angrily threw a fist into the Green Hornet's unprotected mid section, doubling him over into a tight knot. "You're finished, old man," he growled. "You got yer uses though," he said, slamming into the Hornet's belly again. "After I teach ya a lesson, yer gonna be real useful. That is if I let ya live." Again punctuating with a fist into his victim's body. Feeling a hot ecstatic flush run through his body, Martinez rapidly began pummeling the Green Hornet's unprotected body, each blow coming harder and faster than the last, like a lover coming near orgasm. There was a loud crack and the Green Hornet cried out in sudden pain, collapsing in Torrence's hands.   
  


"I think you broke something," Torrence commented drily. "You want me to keep holding him up?"   
  


"Nah, drop him, he's finished," Martinez said, disappointed that the Green Hornet had not lasted longer. He pulled out a knife and knelt down next to the Green Hornet.   
  


"Hey, Martinez!" a man carrying a large box shouted, "Where do you want me to put the rest of this stuff?"   
  


Snapping his blade back into its sheath, Martinez stood up. "Ya got it planted where the boss told'ja?"   
  


"Yeah, but I still got a few things left," the newcomer answered, pulling out a grenade. "I don't know what I'm gonna do with this. Hell, I don't even know why this is in the damn box in the first place," he commented, tossing it into the air.   
  


"Hey! Watch it!" Martinez shouted, "Ya wanna blow us up?"   
  


"Naw, the thing's safe as long as the pin ain't pulled." Noticing the Green Hornet and Kato laying on the floor, he asked, "Who're they?"   
  


"This guy's the Green Hornet," Martinez answered, nudging the barely conscious Green Hornet with his foot. "The guy near ya is his flunky."   
  


"The Green Hornet? I remember hearing about him. He was supposed to be one real bad dude." He tilted his head. "He don't look so bad now. What're you plannin' to do with them?"   
  


"I dunno, the boss said to kill 'em, but . . . Hey wait a minute, that grenade . . ., I got me a real good idea of what ta do with it."   
  


"Yeah, what?"   
  


Martinez walked over to the unconscious Kato and turned him over onto his back. "Gimme that thing."   
  


"Sure."   
  


Martinez pulled the pin on the grenade, but held the spoon tightly down while placing it down onto the ground. "Roll this guy over my hand," he ordered. "There," he said, removing his hand from under Kato's body. "I read about this bein' done in Vietnam. The Cong would put a grenade under a guy's body an' when somebody came along and lifted it, boom, the thing would go off right in the guy's face."   
  


"Nice trick," grinned the explosives man. "But this place is goin' up in a short time anyway."   
  


"I know, but it'll give the Hornet somethin' ta sweat about. If his buddy comes to, he'll get blown up when he starts stirrin'. "An' if even if he stays out, they'll both get blown to smithereens when the whole place goes up."   
  


  
  
  
  


Axford was angry that he had paid the stoolie so much money. The slob had told him that something really big was going down on the docks at ten, but the tip had turned out to be a complete bust. What made it worse was that it was his own fifty bucks that had gone down the drain. He decided to head back through the warehouse district instead of taking the freeway.   
  


He was still cursing himself out for his gullibility when the headlights of his car picked out a vaguely familiar shape. _Could it be_, he thought, _after all these years could it really be the Black Beauty?_ He drove closer and from out of the darkness he could pick out the Black Beauty's long, low profile. There was no other car that looked like it in the entire world.   
  


Axford was overjoyed as he got out of his car. Maybe he might get a good story tonight after all. The Black Beauty was empty as he had expected, which meant that the Hornet must still be in the warehouse that the car was parked in front of. He found the side door of the warehouse, quickly noting that it had been singed by a narrow, powerful beam, the mark of the Hornet sting. Now Axford was even more sure that the Green Hornet, the real Green Hornet, was again on the prowl. Cautiously poking his head through the door, Axford peered into the warehouse's dim interior. Seeing nothing, he carefully crept further into the building.   
  


In the darkness he nearly fell as his foot slipped on something on the ground. He knelt and in the wan moonlight filtering through the windows high above, he recognized the long, black, tubular shape of the Hornet sting. Axford was ecstatic. The Hornet would never have willingly left his powerful weapon behind. He had to be still in the building, alive and helpless, or dead. Either way, Axford had the chance he had been waiting for.   
  
  
  


Barely containing his excitement, Axford walked further into the building, looking for any sign of the Green Hornet. A slight movement near a pillar caught his eye. He walked quickly over to find the Green Hornet collapsed against it, his arms tied tightly around it. The Green Hornet stirred painfully, his face bloody and bruised, a filthy gag shoved in his mouth.   
  


"Looks like you should've stayed retired, Hornet," Axford commented, looking down into the bound man's green eyes as he reached for the mask. The Green Hornet exploded at Axford's touch, struggling futilely against his bonds. Axford roughly grabbed the Green Hornet's shoulder, trying to force the man to be still, but he struggled all the harder. Axford angrily balled his fist. "Looks like you've been through Hell already, but if you keep on struggling, I'm going to slug you. I've been waiting a long time to see who you really are. You're not going to stop me now. Not this time."   
  


Still the Green Hornet struggled, his mouth trying to work around the gag, then he went unexpectedly limp, his shoulders sagged in hopeless defeat. Axford reached for his long sought after prize, then stopped, something was terribly wrong. The Green Hornet wasn't the type to suddenly give up. And where was his man, Axford wondered. The reporter stood up, looking for some sign of the Hornet's chauffeur.   
  


In a corner, near the door he had entered was a slender form on the ground. Axford went over. The uniform was right and on the unconscious man's face was a black mask. He began to lift Kato when the Green Hornet went wild, moaning and struggling, trying to stand up against the pillar. Axford stopped, realizing that whatever was wrong had to do with the chauffeur. He returned to the Green Hornet, crouched in front of him, and removed the gag.   
  


"Axford, this whole place is going to blow up!" the Green Hornet shouted.   
  


"Blow up? Are you sure? You're lying," Axford said suspiciously.   
  


"I'm not lying."A small groan came from Kato's direction. "You've got to untie me. They've booby-trapped Kato. There's a bomb under him. When he gets up, it'll explode. I've got to stop him from moving."   
  


Axford's faded blue eyes narrowed. "If you think you're gonna pull the rug over me, it ain't gonna work," he warned.   
  


"Dammit, I'm not lying," the Green Hornet gritted impatiently. "I'm telling you the truth." Kato groaned again, slightly stirring. "Axford, you've got to untie me."   
  


"Why don't you tell him to keep still from here?"   
  


"I can't. He's groggy. He won't understand what I'm saying. He'll try to get up. Untie me, damn it!" the Green Hornet demanded.   
  


"No. Not until I'm sure. I'll go over there and hold him down and explain to him what's going on."   
  


"Don't. Don't do that. He'll try to fight you. Both of you will be killed. You have got to untie me. It's the only way."   
  


Indecisive, Axford rubbed is jaw. "I dunno."   
  


"Okay, you win," the Green Hornet sighed tiredly, "Take the damn mask off. You've been wanting to do it, so go ahead take it off. It won't do you any good. This place is going to blow up at any moment and we'll all be dead. But at least you'll finally know who I am. I swear though, you'll regret that knowledge for the short time we're alive."   
  


Axford stared at the Green Hornet, studying him. It seemed possible that the masked man was not trying to trick him. But still . . . "Okay, Hornet, I'll untie you. You can take care of your man, but . . . "   
  


"But what?"   
  


"When we're out of here, when we're all out of danger, you got to promise me that you will take off your mask. You have to swear by whatever you hold sacred that you will let me see who you are behind that mask."   
  


The Green Hornet nodded. "I swear, I'll unmask as soon as we're safe out side." Kato began stirring more, struggling back into consciousness. "Hurry, damn it!" the Green Horned demanded urgently.   
  


Axford quickly untied the Green Hornet's hands. The Green Hornet pushed himself to his feet, immediately falling to his knees as his bad leg folded under him. Axford offered a hand up. "You okay, Hornet?"   
  


"I'm fine," the Green Hornet insisted despite the trembling of his left leg. "My leg fell asleep. I can make it without your help." He leaned against a box. "Why don't you go out and get behind something in case we run out of time?"   
  


"No, I'll stick with you. I want to make sure you keep your promise." 

The Green Hornet shook his head disgustedly. His leg had finally stopped shaking enough for him to walk. He strode quickly to Kato's side. "Don't move," he ordered, "There's a grenade under you. If you get up, it'll explode," he said, forcing himself to talk in a calm voice.   
  


"A grenade?" Kato asked, his voice cracking. "Are you sure?"   
  


The Green Hornet shook his head. "Why is everybody doubting what I'm saying lately?" he muttered in a low voice. "Yes, that's what I said, a grenade. This place is also wired to blow up in any minute. You must do exactly what I say."   
  


Kato gulped nervously. "Why don't you get out of here? Save yourself."   
  


"That's not an option. I not going to leave here without you," the Green Hornet insisted. "Just do exactly what I tell you. Understand?"   
  


"I understand."   
  


"Good. Can you feel where the grenade is?"   
  


"Yeah, it's right in the pit of my stomach."   
  


"Fine. I'm going to run my hand under you and try to grab hold of it. I want you to press your body down on top of my hand with all your might. You'll have to keep your weight completely down on my hand until I have the spoon on the grenade secured. Okay?"   
  


"Okay."   
  


The Green Hornet slipped his hand under Kato's stomach until he felt the grenade with his fingertips. "I'm close. Keep your weight on my hand. That's it. You're doing fine," he said, trying not to worry about the other bombs in the building. He slipped his hand over the round oval of the grenade, searching for the spoon. Finally he had it. "I got it," he breathed triumphantly.   
  


The three men ran out of the building, racing for their lives. Kato and Axford headed for the shelter of the Black Beauty's heavily armored body. The Green Hornet hung back, waiting until they had crouched behind the car. With a powerful overhand throw, he threw the grenade toward the building and ran to join them. The grenade's midair explosion was mirrored, doubled and redoubled as the warehouse shattered into billowing flames as multiple explosions ripped through it.   
  


The Green Hornet, knocked down by the explosion's force, sat on the ground, watching the fierce flames devouring the building. He looked behind him to see Axford and Kato walking up to him. He slowly rose to his feet. "Axford, we made a deal. Now you can collect," he said. "You've always wanted to take my mask off with you own two hands. Now you can do it."   
  


Axford grinned, his fondest dream had come true. He stopped, his hands reaching for the mask. There was something about the Green Hornet that touched him as no amount of defiance or pleading could have done. The man seemed as though he was facing some horrible tragedy that he was forced to accept. The opponent that Axford had pursued for years was giving up. This was a chance of a lifetime, yet something told him he would regret taking the mask. "You're off the hook, Hornet. I can't do it."   
  


Axford turned away, disgusted at his own softness. Then he turned to face the Green Hornet with a crooked grin. "We've had quite a time haven't we? I almost thought it was over when I heard talk that you had been executed. I'm kind of glad that you weren't. You got a lot of style these punks today don't have." He ran a calloused hand through thinning red hair in embarrassment. "I missed those days. It was a lot of fun." He gave a short laugh. "I'm lookin' forward to seeing you give those young gangsters a lesson, just like you did in the old days. Those yahoos in the City Room will finally see what I was talkin' about. They'll see."   
  


The Green Hornet smiled in silent agreement. Axford continued, "There's one thing though . . . "   
  


"What's that?" the Green Hornet asked gently.   
  


"I still want you to keep your promise. Not now, but later, much later. I don't want to go to my reward without knowing who you really are. When the priest comes to give me the last rites, I want you to be the next man I see."   
  


"Do you honestly think I'll manage to outlive you?"   
  


"You got the Irish luck in you, Hornet." Axford laughed, shaking his head. "You got to be Irish, wearing green like you do. You're going to live a long time. You're too much a bastard to go to heaven and the devil won't let you into Hell 'cause you'd take it over. Uh, Hornet, when I'm gone, dance at my wake, will 'ya?"   
  


"I'll get roaring drunk, just for you," the Green Hornet promised.   
  


Axford dug his hands into his pockets, and pulled out the Hornet sting. "I was kind of thinking of keeping this thing for a souvenir, but, Hell, I don't have any need for the damn thing." He handed it over to the Green Hornet. "Here, it's yours anyway. You have more use for it than I do."   
  


The Green Hornet smiled as he checked the Sting's smooth black surface. "Thank, I was wondering where it went to."   
  


Axford shrugged and slouched off toward his car. He could already hear the sirens of the police and fire department racing to the warehouse fire. He turned around to watch the Green Hornet join Kato by the Black Beauty. Suddenly Axford slammed his hand on his car's hood. _Damn!_ he thought, _I forgot to ask the Hornet what he was doing there in the first place. Some reporter I'm turning out to be._   
  
  
  


II   
  
  
  
  
  


"I thought he was really going to do it, "Kato commented as the Green Hornet walked to his side.   
  


"So did I, Kato. So did I." The Green Hornet climbed into the car. "I better call Casey and tell her we'll be home as soon as we put the Black Beauty to bed. I think we're done for the night," he said, trying not to sound as tired and sore as he felt. He dialed home and waited for a long time as the phone rang. He was starting to get worried when Casey finally answered. "Casey," he began, but before he could say another word, she started talking.   
  


"Ah, Britt. I'm glad you called. Oh?" she continued, "You're going to be late? That's too bad. I understand. That's the problem of being the boss. You're always the one that has to cover when things fall apart."   
  


"Casey," he broke in, "Is someone there?"   
  


"Yes dear," she said, "I won't wait up for you."   
  


"We'll be right there," the Green Hornet assured her.   
  


"Drive carefully, dear," she said sweetly before hanging up.   
  


"Kato, somebody's holding Casey prisoner at the house. Get us there yesterday, if not sooner," he said grimly, his heart racing with fear for his wife's life.   
  


The Black Beauty raced along the freeway, rapidly passing cars like they were standing still. In the rear view mirror, Kato noticed with alarm that one of the cars they passed had a red, white and blue light bar. "That was a cop," he said unnecessarily as the lights came to life behind them.   
  


"Lose them," the Green Hornet snapped.   
  


Kato nodded, pulling on a lever, switching on a supercharger. The Black Beauty's barely audible purr deepened into a powerful thrum as it surged ahead of the pursuing police car. Kato had a hard time keeping the wheel straight as the big, black car lunged forward, fighting the limits of being earth-bound. The lights of the police car quickly melted into the lights of the city behind them. "They might try to set up a road block to stop us."   
  


"If they do, blast it," the Green Hornet said harshly.   
  


Kato nodded in agreement. He liked Mrs. Reid and the idea of her being in danger chilled him to the bone. He shot a quick glance at the Green Hornet in the rear view mirror. He was shocked at what he saw. The Green Hornet looked like hell. Kato knew he had been badly beaten, but he didn't realize how badly. The Green Hornet's face was a pasty grey and he seemed to be breathing painfully. "Are you all right?" he asked.   
  


"I'm fine," the Green Hornet gritted. "Keep your mind on your driving," he ordered sharply.   
  


After what seemed an eternity they entered Valley Grove, but their speed only eased by a fraction as they roared along the village's dirt road, heading toward Britt Reid's house. The Green Hornet sat on the edge of his seat. "We're nearly there. Don't go to the front of the house. They're probably expecting Britt Reid to pull up there. Go around back, near the stables. Switch to silent running and polarize the lights. And shut down the power before we lose control on this road. This dirt is too loose for our speed."   
  


The house looked peaceful from the road. There were only a few lights on, none out of place for it being nearly midnight. "Park under that old barn's lean-to. That'll keep the Black Beauty out of sight from the house," the Green Hornet instructed. "I don't see any sign of guards. Do you?" he asked Kato.   
  


"Not from here," Kato answered, his eyes trying to probe the deep shadows that surrounded the Reids' sprawling house.   
  


"Unfortunately that doesn't mean there aren't any. Take your time. Lower the brooms. We can't do anything about the noise of the tires on the gravel, but we can do something about the tracks." Kato flipped a switch and a set of steel wire brooms lowered from behind the front and rear wheels, wiping out any trace of their passage.   
  


Kato slipped the Black Beauty beside the old barn and the Green Hornet climbed out. He spoke to Kato through his open window, "I'll go around back and up to the study where the lights are on. You go in by the window near the dining room and cover my back."   
  


"Shouldn't I stick with you?"   
  


"Why?" the Green Hornet demanded sharply. "It's better if we approach them from different angles."   
  


Kato bit his lip, trying to think of a way to get past the Green Hornet's pride. "It's just that you don't look too good. Those guys worked you over pretty bad."   
  


"Don't think I can handle a few thugs by myself?"   
  


"Frankly, no."   
  


"That's my wife in there. I have no idea what they've done to her, or what they're planning. I'm not going to waste valuable time arguing with you. Once you promised to do exactly what I say. Now do it." The Green Hornet angrily turned on his heel, not waiting for Kato's answer.   
  


Suddenly he doubled over, barely catching himself against the lean-to's support, as a sharp pain radiated out from his side. His head spun dizzily as he clenched his teeth, trying not to cry out from the pain. Alarmed, Kato jumped out of the Black Beauty, and grabbed the Green Hornet.   
  


"What's wrong?" he demanded.   
  


"Nothing, damn it," the Green Hornet gasped.   
  


"Something wrong's. What is it?'   
  


"I got a broken rib," the Green Hornet gasped painfully as he tried to straighten. "Maybe more than one."   
  


"You better stay in the car. I'll take care of everything."   
  


The Green shook his head forcefully, almost losing his balance. "No. You're too inexperienced. You'll get killed. And maybe Casey in the bargain as well."   
  


"Then we'll call the cops and they'll take care of everything," Kato suggested.   
  


"No way. One sign of a cop car or a sound of a siren and those thugs will split. If we're lucky maybe they'll leave Casey alive, but I don't want to bet her life on that. We have to take care of this ourselves."   
  


"You can't do this."   
  


"I have to. I'll be fine, just let me catch my breath for a moment."   
  


"Look at yourself. You can barely stand," Kato said angrily. "You're hurt too bad. You can't do anything. You'll be the one who'll get Mrs. Reid killed, not me."   
  


The Green Hornet glowered at the younger man. "How are you planning on stopping me?"   
  


Kato looked away from the Green Hornet, trying to bring his temper under control. He couldn't. "Damn it! Don't you dare pull that bullshit on me!" he hissed. "You pulled that on my father and it almost got you killed and it split up the best damn crime fighting team there ever was. Your goddam blind, pig-headed pride destroyed you and my father. I won't let that happen to me. If I have to tackle you, knock you out and hogtie you, I goddam will."   
  


The Green Hornet glared at Kato, shaking with anger, "How dare be you . . . "   
  


"I dare and I will."   
  


"She's my wife..." the Green Hornet began, his voices dangerously quiet.   
  


"I know how much you love her. I like her a lot too. I wouldn't do anything to risk her life. That's why I can't let you go."   
  


"You can't do it alone. We have to do it together," the Green Hornet answered. "There is no other way." he insisted.   
  


Kato nodded reluctantly. He had to admit that the Green Hornet was right. It was impossible for one man to go against armed killers alone. "Okay," he finally conceded. "But we have to handle this together, as a team."   
  


The Green Hornet nodded in agreement.   
  


"Okay, but first I got to bind up your ribs, that'll help the pain." The Green Hornet's eyes narrowed stubbornly. Kato rushed in before the older man could say a word, "I know there isn't a lot of time, but if I don't take the time to take care of your ribs now, they could cause a lot of trouble when we can least afford it." He didn't add that they might be too late already. They both knew that.   
  


After quickly binding the Green Hornet's ribs as quickly as he could, Kato silently followed him to the house, trusting in the older man's knowledge of his home grounds. He watched the big man carefully, hoping that the basic first aid job he had done would be enough to get the Green Hornet through the rest of the night.   
  


The Green Hornet held up his hand, "There, near the pool house, there's a man smoking. See there's the light of his cigarette," he whispered.   
  


"I see him," Kato said, slipping past the Green Hornet. Keeping in the shadows of the plants around the pool, he crept closer to the man. A rapid movement and the man fell silently to the ground, never knowing what had hit him.   
  


The Green Hornet joined Kato beside the pool, and unlocked the pool house door. "Hide him in here," He whispered. The patio door of the house slid open and the two men crouched out of sight near the pool house. "Martinez," the Green Hornet said, recognizing the man standing in the light from the recreation room behind him. Another man joined Martinez in the doorway. "And Miles," the Green Hornet added.   
  


"No sign of Reid?" Martinez asked the tall redhead beside him.   
  


"No, not yet," Miles said, disgustedly flicking a glowing cigarette butt into the pool in front of him. "Reid called here a short while ago and told his wife that he would be late."   
  


"Did'ja listen in on the conversation?"   
  


"No, why should I?"   
  


"'Cause that might not have been Reid. Maybe she was able to tell him to stay away without you knowin' what she did. That's why. What're you plannin' to do with her?" 

"Who?"   
  


"Reid's wife, that's who."   
  


Miles shrugged. "I don't know. Let Marcus decide what to do with her, and Reid when he gets here."   
  


Martinez pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "She's a nice piece of tail, even for a dame her age. Maybe we should have a little fun with her to kill the boredom."   
  


"Marcus said not to touch her. Not until he's taken care of Reid."   
  


Martinez sniggered "If we rough her up a little, it might help soften Reid up a bit."   
  


"Nah, it wouldn't work. Reid's a tough son of a bitch, it'd only make him harder to handle. Let him think that if he cooperates, both he and his little woman will be safe."   
  


"Yer not intendin' on lettin' them go, are ya?"   
  


"No way. I'm not that stupid. No, once we get what we want from Reid, we'll bump them and that Lowrey guy off."   
  


"Maybe we could have a little fun with 'em before we knock them off."   
  


"What're you thinking of?"   
  


"Well, we could get your sister over here and we could have ourselves a little party."   
  


Miles grinned. "Yeah, she's real pissed that the Hornet turned her down. That's the first time anybody's refused a roll in the hay with her. Maybe Reid might be a good consolation prize."   
  


"Yeah, especially since it looks like she's developed a yen for senior citizens. Yeah, we could have ourselves a jolly old time. Maybe I might even trade off with your dear sister on Reid."   
  


"I didn't know you're AC/DC," Miles said, moving a few steps from Martinez. 

Martinez snorted. "Don't worry about me contaminatin' you. I'm strictly hetero. So's Reid. That's where the fun will come from."   
  


Miles laughed obscenely. "You just better stock up on the Vaseline. I bet he's a real tight ass."   
  


Martinez grabbed Miles' arm. "Didja hear that?"   
  


"What?"   
  


"I dunno, I thought I heard somethin'."   
  


"It's probably a stray cat."   
  


"Maybe," Martinez replied. A flowerpot crashed to the concrete walkway near the pool house. "I'm gonna check it out."   
  


"No, don't," Miles warned. "Stay in the house. We got plenty of guards around in case of trouble."   
  


"They're out front watchin' for Reid. I'm just gonna check that noise out. It's probably nothin' anyway."   
  


"Don't leave."   
  


"What's wrong, you afraid to be left alone with Reid's wife? 'Fraid she's gonna jump you?"   
  


"No, I just don't like the idea of you wandering out there in the dark."   
  


"Don't worry, Miles, Torrence is in there. He'll protect you from Reid's wife if she decides ta get violent." Martinez smirked. "Why don' cha go back in before the night air gives ya a chill," he said disdainfully as he stepped out onto the patio.   
  


The swimming pool, unlike those of the Reids' more sensible neighbors who shunned bathing in the last cool days before fall was still filled with water. A light mist rose from the heated pool which was lit for late evening swims. A slight breeze played above its rippling surface making flickering prismatic shadows that made it harder to see into the shadows surrounding the pool.   
  


A low, deep voice form behind him, made Martinez' heart stop cold with fear. "You should've killed me when you had the chance."   
  


"Hornet? It can't be. That warehouse blew into millions of pieces. Nobody could've survived that."   
  


"Oh, but I did, Martinez," the Green Hornet said.   
  


"Uh, look, Hornet, it wasn't anythin' personal. Ya know how it is. I was just followin' orders."   
  


"No, it was personal. Very personal. You enjoyed yourself, didn't you?"   
  


"Hornet," Martinez pleaded, "What do you say if I give ya a hand? You know, we take over their whole operation. I'll give ya anythin' ya want, enough to put everybody away for a long, long time."   
  


"Are you proposing to double-cross your friends?"   
  


"They ain't no friends of mine."   
  


"How do I know you won't double-cross me?"   
  


"I wouldn't, I swear," Martinez pleaded desperately.   
  


Without warning, he suddenly dropped to the ground and threw a knife straight for the Green Hornet's heart. The Green Hornet dodged the deadly blade and grabbed Martinez by the collar, shoving him up against the wall of the pool house. "I'm not tied up now. No one is pinning my arms behind my back," he growled, throwing Martinez away from him like a sack of garbage. "Let's see what you can do against somebody who isn't helpless. Let's see what you can do against a worn out old man." He lifted the floundering Martinez, and again threw him to the ground. "Get to your feet. Fight like a man," the Green Hornet goaded angrily.   
  


Fists flailing, Martinez charged his tormentor, but the masked man easily dodged his blows. Bobbing and weaving, he led Martinez away from the safety of the house. Repeatedly Martinez lunged at the Green Hornet, only to find him staying just out of his reach. Shaking in exhaustion, Martinez panted, "Goddam it, stay in one place."   
  


Holding his hands away from his body, the Green Hornet stood a few paces in front of the tired thug. "Here I am. Take your best shot. If you can," he challenged.   
  


Martinez threw a full roundhouse punch at the Green Hornet's mid section only to find his fist encased in a rock-hard grip. The Green Hornet lifted Martinez' hand high above his head and began pressing down on the thug's outstretched arm, forcing him down to his knees. "I have had enough of you," he snarled. "You have been constantly in my way. I will not tolerate you any longer," he finished with a blow in the shorter man's face and kept on hitting him. He was in terrible pain, and he wanted nothing more than to make the two-bit gangster to feel his pain, to feel the pain that all of his victims had felt. Martinez blubbered for mercy, but there was no mercy to be found in the Green Hornet. Despite the man's pleas the Green Hornet continued hitting him, pile driving him into the ground.   
  


A strong grip bit into the Green Hornet's shoulder. Shaking with rage, he looked up to see Lee standing over him, Martinez' slender throwing knife glittering in his fingers. "Here," Kato said, his quiet voice breaking through the Green Hornet's blind fury, "If you're going to kill the bastard, use this instead. It's a lot quicker and a lot quieter." 

The Green Hornet snatched his hands away from the bloody-nosed Martinez like he had been burned. He felt ashamed by his loss of self-control. "No, I won't be needing it." He pulled out his gas gun. Martinez' eyes grew wide with terror. "You don't know how lucky you are," he said grimly as he pressed the gas gun's trigger.   
  


Slowly the Green Hornet pulled himself to his feet. "Take him to the pool house and lock him in with the other guy," he said to Kato.   
  


Kato hesitated, "Wait up for me?" he asked.   
  


The Green Hornet nodded reluctantly, then headed for the house. "I'll wait at the back door."   
  


Kato carried the unconscious Martinez to the pool house, tied him up with the other thug, quickly locked the door and trotted rapidly to the back door, not fully expecting to find the Green Hornet waiting for him there. He was right in his concern. The Green Hornet was nowhere to be found. He swore at under his breath at the Green Hornet's talent for pure cussedness and slipped through the slightly open door. He found lying just inside the door the gigantic form of Dr. Torrence, the Green Hornet standing over him. "I decided to wait inside," the Green Hornet said.   
  


"I'm glad you decided not to try to beat him up too," Kato commented drily.   
  


The Green Hornet smiled tiredly, shaking his head. "That crazy I'm not." He prodded Torrence's body with his foot. "Move him out of sight. I spotted a light on in the upstairs library. That's probably where they're waiting for Britt Reid."   
  


  
  


The carafe of expensive brandy fell from Miles' hand as the library doors burst apart beneath the Hornet sting's powerful sonic beam. Before his two men could draw their guns, a pair of darts bit into their arms. The Green Hornet casually entered the room, the Hornet sting in his hands keeping them at bay. "I'm disappointed that you and your brother-in-law weren't able to make our appointment," he said.   
  


"You're a tough man to get rid of," Miles remarked, edging closer to the couch where Casey sat stiffly erect.   
  


"That's something you will have to learn," the Green Hornet said, "I can be very persistent when I want something. Who's that?" the Green Hornet asked noticing an unconscious form lying bound between the writing desk and a wall.   
  


Kato walked over and bent down. "It's that reporter, Ed Lowrey, the one the cops are looking for."   
  


"How is he?"   
  


"There's a bad bruise on his head, but his pulse is strong," Kato answered.   
  


The Green Hornet nodded, moving between Miles and Casey. He stopped, facing Casey and lifted her chin up with a finger, turning her face so that he could see better the dark bruise on her cheek. "A little rough, weren't you?" he commented. "Are you okay, Mrs. Reid?"   
  


"I'm fine," she answered, her eyes widening slightly as she noticed his battered face and the ugly cut along his jaw. "You don't look so good yourself."   
  


Touching the cut, he said, "That's something I have to thank Miles' buddy, Martinez and the not-so-gentle giant for. Don't worry," he assured her, "I've paid both of them back for it."   
  


She nodded toward the tense Miles, "He's waiting for my husband to come home. Senator De la Culebra is coming too."   
  


"Ah," the Green Hornet said smoothly, turning to face Miles, "I see. Miles, I'm afraid you and the honorable senator are going to have to be disappointed."   
  


"Why?" Miles demanded, but before the Green Hornet could reply, the deep beat of a helicopter flying overhead drowned out their conversation.   
  


  
  


De la Culebra glared angrily out of the helicopter's window. All he saw around him was blackness. The sky, the ground under him, everything was black. It weighed on him, making his black mood worse. He pulled out two throwing darts. They were delicate, perfectly balanced; omens, perhaps even clues to his current problems.   
  


The fool Martinez had a talent for picking up the things. The first from one of the Wolverton plantation, the second during that fiasco at the Daily Sentinel. De la Culebra cursed. Miles claimed that he had only ordered Martinez to scare Reid, to shake him up. If Martinez had succeeded in killing Reid, the entire city would have been ripped open. No man of Reid's stature could have been murdered without causing a massive uproar. He wished Martinez had succeeded. Then he wouldn't now be on his way to Reid's house. Then he would only have the Green Hornet to worry about.   
  


The Green Hornet. De la Culebra cursed again. Miles had assured him that the Green Hornet had been taken care of. Now he had just gotten word that because of the interference of one of Reid's reporters the Hornet was still alive. Still a problem. Losing the warehouse and its contents was costly. If he had known about it in time he would have never permitted it, but it was Miles' idea. As usual the idiot had not bothered getting advice. It have would at least been worth it if the Hornet and his man had died in the explosion.   
  


It was fast becoming too costly to keep Miles around. Too many errors were being made. Miles was only useful as a front man, somebody to cover his involvement, but if he had to step in one more time, it might no longer be worthwhile keeping him alive. Even if it meant having to deal with Shannon's terrible rage.   
  


In the helicopter's dimly lit interior, De la Culebra examined the darts more closely, mulling over them. Britt Reid and the Green Hornet; the two were closely linked. Crawford was sure they were the same man, and he still was, even after Rivers' show. De la Culebra did not share his confidence. Reid was fiercely anti-crime, his personal fight against crime and corruption, no matter wherever it lay or whoever was involved was famous across the country. The Green Hornet on the other hand was a dangerously cunning criminal mastermind. A loner who had once had every crime family scratch his home city out for their expansion plans. A partnership with the Green Hornet was dangerous; the refusal of one, fatal.   
  


But who were the intruders at the plantation? The dart-thrower had to be the Hornet's man, but who was the other one? The Green Hornet in disguise, perhaps? Possible, very possible. But why did he appear now? Why now after all this time?   
  


He placed the darts back into his breast pocket. If Reid and the Hornet were indeed two sides of the same coin, then eliminating Reid would free him from the Hornet's interference. If not, then the darts and the seal the Hornet had left behind would serve to direct the investigation of the Reids' murders onto the Green Hornet.   
  


For the first time that day, De la Culebra smiled. Perhaps things were looking up after all. He, himself, would lead the investigation against the Green Hornet. It would be healthy, very healthy, for his candidacy for him to become the spiritual successor to Reid's campaign against crime. _Yes_, he thought smugly, _it would be very good indeed. And ironic._   
  


It was still some time before dawn, so he couldn't see much outside as the helicopter landed, but De la Culebra was uneasy. No one was coming out to meet him and he couldn't see any of the guards. Most were probably out front waiting for Reid, but still someone, even the half-witted Martinez, should have come out to meet him. Impatiently he motioned for his two bodyguards to follow him into the house.   
  


There was no one in the first floor of the house either, but De la Culebra could see a light through the open doors of an upstairs room. With the guards behind him, he rapidly climbed up the stairs. He found Miles inside the bookcase lined room calmly talking to a pretty middle-aged woman with strawberry blonde hair who he recognized as Mrs. Britt Reid. "Damn it, Miles," the Senator growled peevishly, "Where the hell are all your guards?"   
  


A low commanding voice came from behind him, "Don't worry Senator. They have all been well taken care of."   
  


"The Green Hornet!" the Senator gasped, turning to face the tall, green-garbed masked man. Instantly the Senator's bodyguards drew their guns, but before they could aim, Kato dropped them, both unconscious, to the floor faster than an eye blink. De la Culebra smiled in appreciation of the lithe chauffeur's skill. "That was quite unnecessary, Mr. Hornet, but I must say it was an impressive display."   
  


"Thank you," the Green Hornet acknowledged the compliment.   
  


"But he is much younger than your original aide. Did something happen to him?" the Senator said, feigning concern.   
  


The Green Hornet's eyes glittered stone-hard, "What happened is none of your concern. Besides there is some business that we must tend to."   
  


"Your partnership proposal?"   
  


"Yes."   
  


"True, your weapons, your car, even you and your aide, could be quite valuable, but for a full partnership, there must be something more. Especially for fifty percent of the net."   
  


"It was fifty percent off the top," the Green Hornet corrected. "But now it's sixty percent, off the top."   
  


"Sixty percent?" the Senator echoed in disbelief.   
  


Clear green eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Delay too long and the percentage will go higher. I may even decide to take over your entire operation and leave nothing for you."   
  


"But first you said . . . ," the Senator began.   
  


The Green Hornet sharply interrupted, "That was before Miles decided it was cheaper to try to kill me instead. I don't like being double-crossed. The percentage is going up every minute you delay," the Green Hornet warned tautly.   
  


"But I must know what else you have to offer."   
  


"How about Britt Reid?"   
  


"Reid? What do you have on him?" the Senator asked instantly interested.   
  


"I don't have anything on him. I have him," the Green Hornet answered. "And that briefcase of evidence that you're so eager to have. That's what I have to offer. If you don't decide quickly, I'll turn them both in to the police," the Green Hornet pressed.   
  


"Perhaps a partnership between us might work after all," the Senator commented, starting to waver.   
  


"There will have to be some changes in your operation."   
  


"What kind of changes?"   
  


"Your operation is brilliant in concept. Through your ex-con run nurseries you obtain all that is necessary to grow your crop quickly. The cons you have released into your rehab program provide pliable labor and your federal connections provide the land for your illicit crop and the helicopters to transport it. Your warehouses provide excellent storage facilities for the contraband and your trucks transport it nationwide," the Green Hornet detailed as he paced between De la Culebra and Miles. "Unfortunately, you chose an incompetent to run it and he chose a bloodthirsty fool as his lieutenant."   
  


"How do you plan to correct my 'error'?"   
  


"I have Reid and you have his wife. They've both seen too much. They'll have to be eliminated. I propose to perform that task for you, but . . . "   
  


"But what, Mr. Hornet?" De la Culebra prodded. He was starting to admire the way this legendary master criminal thought.   
  


"But," the Green Hornet continued, coming face to face with the much shorter senator, "I'll need someone to pin the murders on. I want Miles. There will be an 'accident' and the police will find him dead alongside his victims. Miles was the only one who was ever seen being personally involved in the operation. The papers I found in Reid's possession mention nothing about your involvement. Only Miles is ever mentioned. All connections to you will end with his death. You can claim that everything he did was done without your knowledge and propose to do a thorough housecleaning. The police will be satisfied to have the Raids' murderer and I'm sure you can arrange it for the Feds to be satisfied with pinning the entire operation on him, your dear, unlamented, deceased brother-in-law."   
  


"I like it, Mr. Hornet," De la Culebra grinned. "Of course my lovely wife will be heartbroken to hear of her brother's untimely demise, but I'm sure you would be willing to console her in her time of grief."   
  


The Green Hornet nodded, smiling slightly. "It would be my pleasure."   
  


"Yes, Mr. Hornet, you are a genius," De la Culebra said, warming up to the Hornet's suggestion. "I like your idea a great deal."   
  


"Well, I don't!" Miles shouted, lunging for De la Culebra's throat.   
  


A slug from the Senator's lightning fast drawn gun pierced him through the heart, killing him instantly before he had taken a step.   
  


As the thunder of the gunshot reverberated through the library, one of the senator's bodyguards came to and jumped the inattentive Kato. They fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The Green Hornet charged De la Culebra, trying to wrest the gun away from him.   
  


Although he was a much smaller and lighter man, the Senator still kept in shape and had never lost his gang-bred talent for street fighting. As the Green Hornet pulled at his gun hand, the senator's other hand gouged at the Green Hornet's face, but the mask protected the big man's eyes and nose. Desperately the senator grabbed at the mask, trying to remove it. The Green Hornet grabbed at De la Culebra's threatening hand, trying to force it away from his face, pulling his head up and away, but it was too late. The mask, cracked by Martinez' brass-knuckled beating, gave way and fell apart in the senator's hand.   
  


Surprised by his sudden unmasking, the Green Hornet lost his grip on the senator's gun hand and tumbled backwards onto the couch behind him. For a moment De la Culebra stared in disbelief at the pieces of the broken mask in his hand and at the man sprawled on the couch. Then he crowed triumphantly, "So I was right in the first place, and I didn't even know it! That great upholder of law and order, the oh-so self-righteous Britt Reid is in truth a law breaker himself, the Green Hornet! The biggest crook of them all!"   
  


Noticing that Kato had risen to his feet after finishing his own opponent, he ordered, "You will not make a move or Reid will get it." De la Culebra thought for a moment. "Your father was the Chinese troublemaker in Wolverton. Wasn't he?"   
  


"You knew him?"   
  


The senator grinned wolfishly. "Oh, yes, of course I do. I killed him," he said bluntly. "He sure was surprised to find a helicopter landing on the road in front of him. But he didn't have much time to get over it by the time my boys ran into him with their truck."   
  


"You bastard!"   
  


The senator raised his gun. "Just try me," he hissed.   
  


"Lee, don't!" Casey warned as she held a restraining hand on Lee's arm. "He's just praying for you to give him an excuse to kill you."   
  


"You're absolutely right, Mrs. Reid. Now if you'd be so kind as to join your husband on the couch," the senator ordered, waving her away from the open door. "I wouldn't want you to get any bright ideas about leaving our little party."   
  


As she sat down on the couch, Casey wrapped her protectively around Britt. She could feel his body shake convulsively as he struggled to catch his breath. "He's hurt," she cried in alarm. "He needs a doctor," she pleaded.   
  


"If you don't do exactly as I say, the only thing he'll get is a bullet between the eyes," De la Culebra answered harshly.   
  


"No!" she protested helplessly. "What do you intend to do with us?"   
  


"That all depends on your husband."   
  


Britt raised his head, still breathing raggedly. "This is between you and me. She's not involved in this. Let her go. Please."   
  


The renegade senator laughed mirthlessly. "I'd be a fool to do that. The only way I can control you and your man, short of killing you that is, is to keep your lovely wife in my possession."   
  


"No!" Britt growled, staring to rise to his feet, stopping when the senator's hand tightened on the trigger.   
  


"Relax Reid," he ordered, motioning for him to sit back down. "She is perfectly safe as long as you do exactly what I say." He studied Britt. "I have to admit you're a tough son of a bitch. Just like your old man."   
  


"What about my father?"   
  


"In prison, your father once took a young gang member under his wing, thinking perhaps to protect him, perhaps even to reform him. He went so far as to tell him that he reminded him of his own son when he was that same age." De la Culebra grinned evilly. "It took a lot more poison to kill him than I had first thought necessary," he said bluntly, enjoying the grief on Britt's face. He twisted the knife further. "I'm glad I didn't kill you when I had the chance. I had an inkling that you might actually live, even though you looked more like a corpse that didn't have the sense to know it was dead."   
  


At first Britt couldn't understand what the senator was talking about. Then he slowly realized the horrible truth. "That young punk, that hippie with the snake on his jacket. That was you," he stated, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Marcus De la Culebra, Mark of the Snake. You are a snake. You gained my father's trust only to use it to kill him on Jackson's orders and then a few years later you came to watch the Green Hornet's execution."   
  


"Not watch, Reid. I fully intended to take part in the execution, and if your man had not arrived when he did, I would have killed you. But, like I said before, I'm glad I didn't."   
  


Britt's shoulders sagged, his shoulders bowed in defeat, not even having the will to look De la Culebra in the eye. "You've taken everything from me. What else do you want?"   
  


"My dear Britt Reid, your usefulness has only just begun. I have big plans for you and your paper and of course, your television station as well. You will pave my way to the White House."   
  


Britt shook his head tiredly. "My support is no guarantee that you'll be elected."   
  


"You underestimate your own power. Yours is the only major paper that has refused to support me. With the Daily Sentinel joining with the support I already have, no one will dare oppose me. Those few who do dare stand in my way, you will destroy with your paper and television station, or," De la Culebra grinned at his own cleverness. "Or you will destroy them as the Green Hornet."   
  


"I won't do it."   
  


"You will, or your wife will die," De la Culebra snapped. Then his voice softened deceptively, "Do exactly as I order and she will remain unharmed. And after I am sworn into the presidency, the two of you will be reunited."   
  


"Don't take her away from me," Britt pleaded, "You have taken so much away from me. Don't take her too. I can't live without her."   
  


"Are you begging me, Reid?"   
  


"Yes, I am," Britt replied, his voice dull with defeat and exhaustion.   
  


"Then do it properly. Get on your knees and beg me not to harm your wife. Kiss my feet and I might even be touched enough to reunite you a little more quickly."   
  


Not looking into her tear-streaked face, Britt gently loosened Casey's hands from around him. He wearily rose to his feet, steeling himself, trying to force his bad leg to support his weight. He could hear Lee whisper behind him, "No, don't, please." It was a waking nightmare for Lee and Casey to watch him humble himself before the sneering senator.   
  


De la Culebra savored his victory, his degradation of the once proud publisher. "Beg, Reid, beg for your wife, for your life and for your very soul," he demanded as Britt knelt at his feet.   
  


"Never!" Britt suddenly shouted as he straightened, pulling the fireplace rug out from under De la Culebra's feet. De la Culebra fell hard, the gun flying from his hand, but he recovered quickly. Kicking Britt away from him, he was out the door almost before he had risen to his feet.   
  


Lee hesitated. Britt was doubled over in pain, but could he dare allow De la Culebra to escape? He went to Britt to help him to his feet. Britt waved him away. "Go after him. I'll be okay," he ordered.   
  


As Lee dashed out the door, Britt pushed himself to his feet. "Britt," Casey said, placing a hand on his arm. "Don't go, you're hurt too bad," she pleaded, even though she already knew what his answer would be.   
  


"I have to. I don't know how many men De la Culebra has out there. Lee's too young, too inexperienced to go it alone. He needs me to back him up."   
  


Casey bit her lip as she felt fresh tears welling up. She grabbed Britt, burying her face against his shoulder. "Oh God, I can't stop you, but come back to me. For God's sake come back," she sobbed fearfully.   
  


Britt eased her away from him. "It would be so easy for me to stay, but I can't. Not yet," he said gently.   
  


Britt forced himself not to look back as he left the library, even though he could hear her sobbing behind him. He tried not to show how much it was costing him just to walk out the door.   
  


At the top of the stairs, out of Casey's sight, he paused. He could feel his broken ribs scrape together. In his mouth was the bitter metallic taste of blood. _Lung's pierced_, he thought. His resolve began to waver, maybe Lee could handle it alone. The loud crack of gunfire penetrating the house's walls changed his mind.   
  


Britt raced down the stairs and out the house, barely in time to see Lee leap for the helicopter's skids as it began rising into the air. Seeing a rifle pointing out of a window of the helicopter, Britt shouted a warning for Lee to jump, but his voice couldn't be heard above the whine of the copter's engine. He flicked out the Hornet sting and, praying that the distance was not too far, aimed at the rifle's exposed barrel. The rifle shook and vibrated in the gunman's hand until the vibration literally stung his hand. The rifle fell harmlessly to the ground and Lee followed it, realizing that it was useless to hang on any longer. It was a long way to the ground, but he landed lightly and tumbled into an impact absorbing roll.   
  


Britt ran up to him as he got to his feet, "We've got to get to the Black Beauty. We have to lead them away from the house. And Casey."   
  


"But they're gone. They can't do anything to us now."   
  


"Yes, they can. That helicopter's armed with rockets and machine guns. De la Culebra can destroy the house and everyone in it, including Casey and Lowrey," Britt said grimly as they ran for the Black Beauty's hiding place.   
  


De la Culebra pointed out the two running men to his pilot. "Get them," he ordered. "Don't let them get away!"   
  


The helicopter swerved after Lee and Britt, its machine guns tearing up the ground at their heels, almost reaching them until they disappeared into a thick stand of trees beside the road.   
  


"Where the hell are they?" De la Culebra demanded angrily, his eyes trying to see through the early morning darkness.   
  


The sky was just starting to lighten above the mountains in the east, but the night still clung jealously in the valley at their feet. Suddenly the Black Beauty, its lights on highbeam, burst out of hiding. "After it!" De la Culebra urged. "Shoot it!"   
  


The helicopter's machine guns chattered as it soared after the racing car. The senator could hear the bullets striking the car, but they were not having any affect on it. "Damn!" he cursed. He should have remembered. "Stop wasting your ammo. That damn car is bulletproofed. Use the rockets on it instead."   
  


The Black Beauty swerved and skidded on the soft dirt of the tree-lined road that wound up and away from the Reids' house. It was nearly invisible in the shifting shadows of the slowly dawning day as it ran under the trees. Only its bright headlights served as a tantalizing beacon to the pursuing helicopter. They were heading out of Valley Grove, heading for the harder surface of a state road that had been asphalted for winter use.   
  


A rocket flashed out from the helicopter, narrowly missing the car fish tailing around the sharp turn onto the state road. The Black Beauty's tires spun, kicking up a fierce storm of dirt and gravel as they grabbed for traction. Another rocket flashed out, on target. The big car's tires caught hold just in time. The rocket exploded harmlessly into the road mere inches from the back bumper.   
  


On firm footing, the Black Beauty sped up the road as it twisted and turned upon itself, going ever high into the mountains, but always staying just barely ahead of the helicopter. One rocket after another snaked out after the fleeing car, one of them coming close enough to singe the vinyl roof until burying itself in the rocky hillside. Disturbed by the explosion, rocks started sliding onto the road, into the Black Beauty's path. The Black Beauty swerved dangerously close to the edge of the narrow road, taking out several lengths of the too flimsy guardrail. For a moment it poised on the very rim of the steep drop-off, one of the rear wheels spinning over the empty air. The other rear wheel finally found traction under the shoulder's soft dirt and the Black Beauty charged back onto the road.   
  


The heavy tree cover thinned out as the road approached its highest point, exposing the Black Beauty nakedly in the full light of the new day. The road had stopped its torturous twisting. The Black Beauty roared at full speed up the straight, steep road. The helicopter clung closely to the car's tail as it raced up the exposed roadway. From the car a thick grey smoke erupted, temporarily blinding the helicopter pilot. He lifted his craft high up above heavy smoke, allowing the downdraft from its blades to sweep it from the road.   
  


The car was nowhere to be seen. "It's got to be somewhere. Judging from that smoke its engine must've blown," the pilot said.   
  


"I doubt it," De la Culebra said, searching the ground under them. "The Green Hornet's got a lot of tricks up his sleeve, and that car's the biggest one of them. That smoke was just something to throw us off their tail." He spotted a double track leading away from the road ripped through the soft soil of a small meadow. "That track's fresh. It must be them."   
  


The helicopter easily caught up with the highly visible Black Beauty, a big black blot amidst the faded yellow grasses. The ground was soft and muddy from a recent rain, too soft for the heavily armored car. The helicopter soared after them, gaining ever closer to the car, but holding its fire. De la Culebra sat on the edge of his seat, his eyes locked on the black car. "Hold your fire," he said, "Wait until we get close enough."   
  


Unexpectedly the Black Beauty came to a screeching halt, and the helicopter screamed past it. The copter made a climbing reverse turn, literally swapping ends, one of its skids coming close enough to scrape a hillside to start a minor rockslide. De la Culebra grinned hungrily as they turned back toward the car. It was hopelessly mired in the thick, black mud near the crest of a small rise. "Bring it down lower," he said. "I want to see the fear in their eyes when we blow them up to kingdom come."   
  


  
  
  
  


Britt's eyes narrowed, "Keep her steady," he said tensely as he adjusted the rocket controls. The design of the rocket pods didn't allow for much vertical or horizontal movement, but with the slight incline of the small rise, it might be just enough. The helicopter was close enough for him to see De la Culebra's face through the hovering helicopter's windscreen.   
  


"They're getting awfully close," Lee said nervously. "They're going to fire any minute."   
  


"I'm fully aware of that," Britt said calmly. "You can get out if you want," he offered.   
  


"What about you?" Lee asked. "If you're staying, so am I."   
  


"I'm staying," Britt said quietly, his hand hovering above the rocket controls. "Do you have the parking brake on, like I asked?"   
  


"Yes," Lee replied tersely. The helicopter was close enough for him to see the blood thirst in the senator's eyes. "If you're going to do something, I'd suggest you do it real soon."   
  


"I am, just keep her steady. Every inch is critical," Britt said. As he pressed the button, he said a silent prayer to whatever gods looked after masked crime fighters.   
  


De la Culebra watched curiously as the car's parking lights lowered to reveal a set of eight small openings behind each one. Something about them was familiar, but although he racked his brain, the answer stayed just barely out of his reach. There was something about that car, something about rockets. Suddenly he screamed, "Pull up! Pull up!"   
  


He was too late. The Green Hornet sent the contents of both rocket pods into the hovering helicopter. It exploded into a massive fireball, rivaling the newly risen sun. It held in midair for a breathless moment, then tumbled down to the shallow meadow, scattering debris on the Black Beauty as it fell.   
  


"Yahoo!" Lee let out a wild war whoop. "You did it! You blasted that sucker clean out of the sky!" he leaped out of the car to take a better look at Britt's handiwork. He turned to see Britt step out of the car. "You don't look very happy," he said dismayed by the grim look on the older man's face.   
  


"I don't see any reason to celebrate."   
  


"No reason? What do you mean, no reason? Don't you see? It's all over. It's finally finished," he said excitedly.   
  


"Is it finished? Are you finally satisfied? Is there any more need for the Green Hornet now?"   
  


Lee shrugged. "I guess we're done. At least for now. I don't see why you're all torn up about blowing those guys away. That bastard killed your father, he killed mine, he crippled you, and he would've killed us like we were nothing but a batch of pesky gnats."   
  


"Lee, no matter how much De la Culebra deserved to die, it wasn't our right to kill him. That isn't what the Green Hornet is about. He doesn't go around killing people, even if they deserve to. The Green Hornet isn't about vengeance."   
  


"Then what the hell is he about?"   
  


"Justice. That's what the Green Hornet is about. He shakes up those racketeers and gangsters who believe that because they have connections in high places they can do whatever they want, that they will never be brought to justice for their crimes. The Green Hornet uses their pride and greed to trick them into exposing themselves to the bright light of the law. That is what the Green Hornet is about; justice, not vengeance. That's why this isn't something to celebrate. The Hornet's reputation was bad enough. Now, he'll not only be hunted by the police, and the racket bosses, but by the Feds as well. De la Culebra was a U.S. senator and a presidential candidate to boot. I can't use that material we have on him, now. He's going to be a national martyr, and we're the one's responsible for that." He turned his back on Lee. "And that makes me sick."   
  


Lee glanced back the helicopter's remains and then back at Britt. "Yeah, but at least the bastard's dead," he said more to himself than to Britt.   
  
  
  


III   
  
  
  


The drive back down the mountain was uneventful, but the tension inside the Black Beauty was thick and heavy. Lee felt a terrible let down. He had accomplished everything he had set out to do, but now he had no idea of where to go from here. In the rear view mirror he noticed that Britt had retrieved a fresh mask and hat from the locker in the car and had put them on. He watched as the Green Hornet replaced the phone in its cradle on the rear shelf behind the back seat.   
  


"How are they?" Kato asked.   
  


The Green Hornet smiled wryly. "Lowrey and Casey are fine. Lowrey's steamed that he missed all the action, but Casey's a real trooper. She's taken care of everything like a pro. She handed those thugs over to the cops along with the stuff Sheriff Tankowski gave Lowrey."   
  


"That's great. I'll bet those birds are going to sing like a bunch of canaries."   
  


"That's what she said they're doing. They're falling over each other for the chance to rat on De la Culebra and his bunch. Once they heard that the 'legendary' Green Hornet was involved, they couldn't wait for the chance to spill their guts."   
  


"So De la Culebra won't become a martyr after all, will he?"   
  


"Looks like it."   
  


The Green Hornet began coughing violently. Kato was alarmed to see that the Green Hornet looked, if it was possible, even worse than before. He saw a patch of blood on the handkerchief that the Hornet held to his lips. "I better get you to a doctor."   
  


The Green Hornet shook his head. "No, not yet. There's something I have to do first," he said hoarsely. "There's somewhere I want you to take me."   
  


"Where?"   
  


The Green Hornet stared out of the window beside him before answering. In a stronger voice, he said quietly, "The Green Hornet needs to say goodbye to an old comrade in arms." He looked meaningfully at Kato. "I'm sure you know the location better that I do."   
  


Kato nodded his understanding. "Yes, sir, I do. You get some rest and I'll get you there as fast as I can." he said gently.   
  


The Green Hornet tried to rest on the long drive upstate, but his ribs were hurting too much to get comfortable. Tiredly he gave up and watched the scenery pass by as they raced to their destination. The fair morning sky had turned a gloomy gray. He could see the trees outside his window being whipped by a fierce wind.   
  


At last the Black Beauty slowed and turned off into a cemetery. It wound through immaculate grounds, where death had been reduced to cookie-cutter sameness with only small bronze plaques to show who rested under the neatly manicured lawn. The Black Beauty didn't stop, but continued toward an older section of the cemetery. It was there that the oldest and the best families had been buried. Large pink and grey granite headstones told whose parents and children lay beneath their factory etched surfaces. An occasional gleaming white mausoleum displayed the pride of those who laid inside.   
  


Still the Black Beauty did not stop, but continued rolling quietly along the winding road, passing under great oaks and weeping willows planted decades ago to shade the deceased and their mourners. The smooth, blacktopped road slipped into a rough dirt track, as the Black Beauty entered the oldest part of the cemetery. Here there was no perpetual care. There was no one who came to care for the thin, broken headstones. Those who had grieved here, had been gone a long time themselves. Their tears shed too long ago to be remembered. At one grave an angel, her wings reduced to stumps by the rough, northern winters, still hovered protectively over someone's beloved. The Black Beauty gracefully slid to a stop.   
  


"My parents' graves are up on that small hill," Lee said in a hushed voice. "Do you want me to take you up there?"   
  


"No, this is something I have to do alone," the Green Hornet said, easing himself painfully out of the back seat.   
  


A strong, cold wind, a rough foretaste of the coming winter, buffeted the Green Hornet, catching at his coat, challenging his determination to stay on his feet. The climb up was nearly impossible. The drain on his rapidly dwindling strength almost too much to endure, but he forced one foot in front of the other. This was something he had to do.   
  


The view from the top was spectacular. He could understand why Kato had chosen this spot as his final resting place. The gently rolling hills nearby were clothed in the brilliant gold and crimson of fall. At their broad feet, he could see the thin silver of a river snaking along on its way to the coast far to the west. Far off in the distance high mountain peaks already bore a mantle of white from an early snowfall. The Green Hornet regretfully tore himself away from the breath taking view.   
  


He respectfully removed his hat as he gazed at the photo that had been imbedded protectively behind thick glass in the modest headstone. He knew those features almost as well as he knew his own, but there was a sharp intensity there that he had never seen before. Those familiar features had narrowed and thinned over the intervening years, consumed by the power of Kato's driven personality. Britt wondered what had happened to kindle the fire in those dark eyes. Or had that intensity always been there? Was he guilty of having been so wrapped up in himself that he had never noticed its existence?   
  


Such a waste, he thought as he removed his mask to wipe at his eyes. He told himself that it was the cold wind that was making his eyes water. Life would have been good if Kato had not left. They could have raised their families together. Their children could have been close as brothers and sister. They could have shared so many happy times together.   
  


"But," a silent voice disagreed, "that would have never happened. We would never have had our families. The Green Hornet stood in the way of that. As long as he existed, there would have been no hope of our having families."   
  


Britt shook his head in denial. "No, it could have happened. I was too badly hurt to continue as the Green Hornet. I wouldn't have become the Green Hornet after that. I didn't want to do it anymore."   
  


Again the silent voice disagreed, "No, you would have become the Green Hornet again. As soon as you were well enough, you would have. No one could have stopped you. Only your own death, or mine would have stopped you."   
  


Britt shook his head again. Was he going mad, carrying on an argument with himself like some kind of loon? He looked up past Kato's grave to see a slender figure there, not quite visible, wrapped in mist. The bitter wind had died and a shaft of sunlight shone warmly over him. A gentle breeze carried the unseasonable fragrance of jasmine and roses. I've gone mad, Britt thought, or perhaps I'm dead and just don't know it yet. He looked down at his hands, wondering how a dead person would be able to tell that he was dead. The shadowy figure smiled in amusement. "You aren't dead. You have a long time to go before that happens."   
  


"This is impossible," Britt thought, "I must be hallucinating. I'm delirious from my injuries."   
  


"Do you deny what you see with your own eyes?"   
  


"My eyes see nothing, nothing but a shapeless mist. This is just the delusion of a grieving old man," Britt insisted.   
  


The mist became more solid, assuming a familiar form, only somehow the features seemed different. Gone was the hungry intensity in the headstone photograph, instead there existed a peaceful contentment. "Believe," was the single word it said.   
  


"Okay, maybe I do believe. Maybe not. But it's a lot better than being crazy," Britt said to the figure. "I admit it. You're right. About me, about the Green Hornet. You're right about all of it. But couldn't you have told me that you were all right? You owed me at least that much."   
  


"I didn't want you to find me."   
  


"You could have told me that. I would've respected your wishes. This business with De la Culebra. I could have helped you. You didn't have to die."   
  


"There were others I didn't want to know about my whereabouts. Those I didn't want to know about my son."   
  


"Who?"   
  


"That is part of my past. Don't try to dig it up," the voice warned as the figure began to fade.   
  


"Wait, please, don't leave, not yet," Britt urged. "There's something I have to say." For a moment the figure stopped fading. "Your son. He's a fine young man. You should be proud of him. He's doing a great job of following in your footsteps. He's his father's son in every way. I promise I'll treat him just like my own son." The figure vanished, but Britt was sure it was pleased.   
  


Britt replaced his mask and hat, slipping back into the Green Hornet persona. The sky was again thickly grey. A fierce early storm was brewing and the wind was icy cold through his summer weight coat. He started down the narrow path, feeling strangely refreshed. Lee met him halfway up the pathway. "Are you okay?" he asked.   
  


"I'm fine," the Green Hornet assured him.   
  


"Uh, did I see what I thought I saw?"   
  


The Green Hornet looked back at the lonely gravesite. "Were you watching?"   
  


"No, but from the Black Beauty I thought I saw somebody standing up there talking with you. I got worried, and started up. I didn't make it all the way before you started back down."   
  


"What do you think you saw?"   
  


Lee blinked, trying to decide whether to honestly admit to what he thought he saw. "It looked like my father, but he's dead. There's no such thing as ghosts."   
  


The Green Hornet nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right, but perhaps, just perhaps, there are things of this world that are beyond the understanding of mortals like us."   
  


Lee looked up at the top of the narrow trail. "Maybe you're right."   
  


The drive back to Britt Reid's house was a long one. Lee noticed that Britt was looking a lot better, and he didn't see the need to go over the speed limit. He didn't feel like it anyway. He had a lot to think about and needed the extra time to decide what he wanted to do. "Uh, Mr. Reid, I've been thinking about what I'm going to do now that I've avenged my father's death."   
  


"What have you decided?"   
  


"I don't think I'll go back to Wolverton. There's no point to it really. Now that both of my parents are dead, there's nothing to keep me there. Besides in a town like that there's not many chances for a guy to get ahead. I thought I'd stay in the city."   
  


"What do you plan to do there?"   
  


"I don't know. I thought maybe I could stay at your house, work for you like my father did."   
  


"I'm sorry, that wouldn't work out."   
  


"I see, sir. I understand," Lee said, trying to hide his hurt.   
  


"I don't think you do understand, young man," the Green Hornet said firmly. "What I meant is that these days a career as a valet has no future for a young man like you. I'm surprised that Kato stayed with it as long as he did. Of course, I think my unusual 'hobby' had something to do with that. No, I think you need to consider a different career."   
  


"What kind of career?"   
  


"How about journalism? It can be very rewarding, especially if you work hard at it. I can set it up with some of my people at the Sentinel to take you around and show you what it's all about. Then you can decide what you would like to do. If you do well and enjoy it, I could even help you get more advanced training."   
  


"That sound's great," Lee said enthusiastically. "I promise I won't let you down." He had been hoping that Britt would think of something else for him besides being a valet. Even though his father had been content being Britt Reid's valet, the idea didn't much appeal to Lee. Working for the Sentinel sounded wonderful. There was one more thing that had been bothering him. "Sir, is this the Green Hornet's last outing?" he asked. There was a long silence from the back seat. "Uh, Mr. Reid?"   
  


"Sorry. I was just thinking about it. I'm not a young man anymore. This whole thing has been very hard on my marriage. I wouldn't risk it for anything, but . . . "   
  


"But what?" Lee asked hopefully.   
  


The Green Hornet looked around the Black Beauty. "Take good care of this old lady. Who knows? She may be needed again."   
  


"You bet!" Lee responded happily. "There's a lot of improvements I'd like to do."   
  


The Green Hornet laughed. "That depends on what you're planning. I won't tolerate a car that talks back to me."   
  


"No way, Boss," Lee said, joining in the Green Hornet's laughter.   
  


The Green Hornet nodded to himself. He wished he could be as eager about the whole thing as that young man. And yet, he didn't feel all that bad either, even considering the punishment he had been put through the last several hours. He gingerly touched his side. Oddly enough it didn't hurt so much anymore. Maybe those ribs weren't broken after all, perhaps they had only been badly bruised. Or maybe a miracle had happened and they had healed on their own. Nah, he thought, no way. That's impossible. They had to have been only badly bruised, not broken as he had first thought.   
  


He sighed tiredly as he closed his eyes to try to grab some rest. After they had put the Black Beauty to bed at the townhouse and had arrived back in Valley Grove, he would have to deal with the police and their questions and the press and their questions. He wasn't looking forward to that. He made a mental note to call Casey and make sure that their stories matched.   
  


He heard the soft click of the radio and the babble of the radio stations as Lee slid the tuner across, seeking a station that suited his taste. Lee had raised the glass partition between the passenger and driver compartments, but the heavy throbbing beat from the radio still managed to penetrate. Kato had never done that, Britt thought. No music had ever been played on that radio, just an occasional newscast, that was all. Lee was so different from his father in so many ways. It was something he was going to have to get used to if they were going to work together.   
  


He should have said that this was the Green Hornet's last outing. There was no need to continue as the Green Hornet. The last of the people tied in with Henry Reid's death was dead. Kato's death had been avenged and an important drug and guns scheme was broken. In fact, he had more reasons to permanently retire the Hornet. There were too many lives tied in with his. There was too much at stake for him to continue as the Green Hornet.   
  


He had been burned, beaten nearly to death, and otherwise put through Hell, and yet, for the first time in a very long time, he felt truly alive. He had said goodbye to Kato, and had made peace with his past. He now knew that his experience as the Green Hornet was a vital part of him, nourishing his life, giving him something to build his life on. They were the seeds of his destiny, leading him to this place in time. Now he could look forward to the future. And if that included the Green Hornet, then he could to that as well. The Green Hornet was an important part of him and would not turn away from that again. Someway, somehow, he was sure the Black Beauty would roll again.   
  


And with Lee's help it promised to be quite a ride.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Epilogue   
  
  
  


John Reid looked eagerly out the airplane's window at the city are below them and gently squeezed the hand of the dark-haired woman sitting beside him. "Not much longer, Fatima. Not much longer at all. You'll love meeting the folks. They're great people. I know you'll love them as much as I do."   
  


The woman smiled, her amber eyes bright with joy. "You've told me so much about them that I feel like I know them already. I just hope they like me. It's going to be quite a shock for them to find out that their only son is coming back from Kahara with a fiancee."   
  


John laughed. "They'll be overjoyed that I finally decided to settle down."   
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


Casey looked up impatiently at the messenger standing in front of her. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Reid is busy. You can't bring that package in to him right now."   
  


"I was told I had to deliver it to him in person," the messenger insisted.   
  


"As you have told me again and again, but as I have said before, Mr. Reid cannot be disturbed. If you can't leave it with me, then you will have to take it back to the sender," she said firmly.   
  


"Okay, lady, I guess I'll just leave it here. I'll just lie to the guy and tell him that Mr. Reid got it."   
  


"Fine."she said. "You can leave it on that chair near the door. I'll give it to Mr. Reid when he is free."   
  


The messenger placed the package on the chair and returned to stand in front of Casey with his hand held expectantly out. He quickly withdrew it when she glared angrily at him.   
  


  
  
  
  


Fatima laughed, watching John going through his letter again. "It looks like you're doing some last minute studying for a final."   
  


He looked up from the papers in his hand. "I'm sorry. It's just that I want to make sure that I have a good idea of what's been going on at home."   
  


"What has been going on?" she asked curiously. "That is if you don't mind my prying. I do think though, that a proper daughter-in-law should be aware of all the family dirty laundry," she teased.   
  


"Well, things are quiet now, but a few months ago there was quite a bit of excitement. Dad got caught up in an investigation of a presidential candidate, a Senator De la Culebra, who was suspected of running drugs and guns scheme. One of our reporters managed to get some evidence on him. Unfortunately the Senator and the Green Hornet wound up our house fighting over the stuff . . . "   
  


"The Green Hornet?" Fatima asked.   
  


"Yeah, he's some crook, a so-called master criminal who was supposed to have died years ago. Anyway my mom was held prisoner at our house, while these two guys fought over the racket. Hmm," he said as he read further, "Yeah, here it is. The Senator winds up killing his partner, his brother-in-law because of a disagreement and the Green Hornet blasts the Senator out of the sky with his car."   
  


"With his car? Let me see that," she said, grabbing the letter out of his hand. "How do you blast a helicopter out of the sky with a car?"   
  


"Thing's some kind of super car. You know James Bond? Rockets, smoke screen, that kind of stuff."   
  


"You're kidding. For real?"   
  


"Yeah. I heard all about him when I was growing up. Dad and the Sentinel were always tangling with the guy. And to think he's actually still alive."   
  


"Amazing," Fatima said. "Were the Senator and his brother-in-law the only people involved?"   
  


"Nope. Mom says there was this South American general involved too. He got his just deserts when he tried to take over his country and wound up getting assassinated instead. Sounds like the Senator's wife was in the middle of things too, but nobody can find her. She probably left the country when it looked like things were starting to fall apart."   
  


"Anything else?"   
  


"Let's see. Oh, yeah. Dad had a bad fall and wound up breaking a few ribs. But he's okay now."   
  


Fatima shook her head. "Your parents live such extraordinary lives. I can see you come by your talent for trouble honestly."   
  


John shook his golden head, his grey eyes shining with delight. "Are you sure you want to become a part of this crazy family?"   
  


"I want nothing more. You seemed worried about something, though. What is it?"   
  


John shrugged. "I don't know. There's something between the lines of my mother's letter that she isn't mentioning. Something seems to be bothering her, but I can't put my finger on what it is."   
  


"Maybe she or your father is not in good health," she suggested.   
  


"No, I don't think so. I've spoken to both of them on the phone and they seem fine. I'd think if there was a health problem, Mom wouldn't wait until I came home at Christmastime to tell me about it. I think Dad's in the middle of something that either they don't want me to know about, or it's something they can't tell me about except in person."   
  


Fatima, feeling the airplane beginning its descent to the airport, grasped her fiance's hand reassuringly. "Whatever it is, we'll find out when we see them."   
  


  
  
  
  


Waiting for the cabdriver and John to finish loading the taxi, Fatima grasped the thick, white fur coat around her as light snowflakes swirled around her. "Do you think it's going to get heavier?" she asked her fiance as he opened the door for her.   
  


John studied the sky for a moment. "Nah, I think it'll be stopping soon, but don't worry. I think we'll have a white Christmas this year." He laughed, "Of course in this state, we almost always have a white Christmas."   
  


"How wonderful," Fatima said unenthusiastically. She much preferred Kahara's dry desert heat to this cold white stuff.   
  


John laughed. "How about a Christmas wedding?" he asked.   
  


"That sounds wonderful," she answered. "As long as we can honeymoon in the Caribbean."   
  


  
  
  
  


The traffic on the way to the Daily Sentinel building was heavy as usual for that time of the day. John eagerly showed Fatima all the sights of the city as they drove by them. "There," he pointed out. "That tall building with the sign on the roof. See, there with the red circle with the letters DSTV. That's the Daily Sentinel. That's where we're going."   
  


Fatima leaned over to look at the building. "Where's your father's office?"   
  


"You can see it there on the corner of the eighth floor. See there, with the balcony. Oh my God!" he suddenly exclaimed as the window where he was pointing exploded into billowing flames.   
  


  
  


**Stay tuned for Winds of God**

**coming soon...**


End file.
